Mind the Gap
by NME
Summary: Richie has to face his developing relationship with Virgil, the increasing powers of his mind, and frequent zombie attacks. The last one's the easiest to deal with. AdventureHumorRomance. T for violence and language. VR Slash
1. Richie's Subway Hell

Warnings: Slash, Language, Violence, Zombies. All the good stuff.

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, I don't even want them. I just want to borrow them so I can play. They're like action figures, in a way.

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Mind the Gap

Chapter 1: Richie's Subway Hell

There was a time when Richie had the ability to vedge out, when he didn't have the problem of little voices in his head, sounding distinctly like himself, jabbering all the time about unrelated subjects. Before, he couldn't be working on updating Backpack's power generator, while mentally cataloging the various (but unfortunately not extensive) weaknesses of his nemeses, and at the same time checking whether he was right about nemeses indeed being the plural of nemesis, which of course he was because for the last few months he's been a certifiable genius. A few months before Richie certainly couldn't have done that, plus continuing an IM conversation with GLFan4, plus cooking a microwave burrito, plus mouthing the famous line, "Soylent Green… IS PEOPLE!" from the movie being run in the background. At least, not without gaining some extra limbs or a clone or something.

But now, not only he could, but he had to. He never could really control his thoughts, he figured no one could, but now instead of being aboard a runaway train, with one beginning and one destination, his brain was a runaway subway _system_, with ideas and thoughts moving in and out, two more getting aboard for every one that left. When did he start thinking in metaphors, anyways? It wouldn't be so bad if every signal that entered the steel doors was a useful and well-behaved commuter, a yuppie yammering in her cell phone, "You see, that Metahuman's powers seem to stem, pardon the pun, from natural wildlife, judging from his vine attacks. Not only does he increase the rate of the vegetation's growth, but he can in fact control them as if they were extra limbs. Vines use photosynthesis to grow, therefore…" No! Some commuters are the college aged, giggling perverts who take the close quarters as an excuse to pinch their fellow traveler's asses, and gleefully bellow, "Wonder what Fertilizer Man would look like in Poison Ivy's tights and bodice?", or the sad figures in the corner of the subway who helpfully pointed out, "Soylent Green… IS PEOPLE!"

Richie thought he had problems informing his best friend Virgil that his father was a racist, and that despite that, Richie loved him. When that was somewhat resolved, Richie then faced the problem of telling his best friend that he was gay, and that problem hadn't even been solved yet. If he couldn't tell Virgil that, how could he tell him that Richie's mind was a strange, spastic place where he was shocked everyday that he hadn't become completely lost to it? That the only times he felt divorced from it and back in reality was when Virgil was there to distract him, or when he was Gear, too busy staying alive to get lost in the chorus of a mutated brain? That he- **FIREBALL!**

Gear dodged quickly to the left as burst of flames flared his way. Crap! Things must have been getting worse if Richie's musings interrupted his job as Gear. He shot upwards from the garden's ground until he reached the height of the cement wall that marked the back of an excessively grand property. He fumbled for a zap cap, one that would soak the subject with water while it trapped him; perfect for jerks like Hotstreak, who, by the way, was currently racing towards him. Time was bought for him by Static, who raced forward, delivering a quick charge that hit just in front of Hotstreak, forcing the Metahuman to dodge to the right rather than to continue his pursuit.

"Hey, Hotdog! Up here!" Static shouted, charging for another electrical shot. Gear knew he was trying to distract the villain's attention from him, as usual, and if it didn't give Gear a clear shot to end the battle, he would have complained. After all, Gear cared about Static just as much as he assumed Static did him. Virgil didn't have to protect him anymore, his armor and Backpack did that. Hotstreak, temper that he had, rose to the challenge and turned around to streak towards Static.

"Not this time, you little punk!"

Static made a face in mock offense as he floated upward, shooting electrical energies at the pyromaniac, which Hotstreak managed to dodge. "Punk? Geeze, Hotstreak, do you blow your father with that mouth?"

"Oh, ew." Gear blurted out. It wasn't a picture pleasant even for a self-believed sex maniac like him, and he gave Static a disgusted look. Even the electrical superhero looked a bit appalled that he actually said that aloud, but not nearly as enraged as their very own firestarter, who jumped and rammed into Static in midair.

"What the… Shit, man! Below the belt! What the hell is the matter with you?"

In normal circumstances Gear would be inclined to agree, but instead he only felt a horribly cold dread as he watched his partner fall downwards in an angle for ten feet before hitting his back against a cement wall with a sickening thud, and then falling the remaining feet to the ground.

"Static!" Finally Gear found his liquidized zap cap and threw it with enough force that he felt his elbow pop. It hit Hotstreak right in the middle of his back, causing him to seize up as he tried to reach behind him to pull it off. The genius didn't bother to look as the mechanical arms surrounded the Metahuman, instead firing his thrusters on his boots to fly himself to his friend. Static grunted and stood up, leaning heavily against the cracked wall. Gear dropped himself all the way to the grassy ground, boots squishing into the damp grass as he carefully hovered a hand over his injured friend's shoulder. "Are you ok?" Instantly various diagnoses of possible results from back and neck injuries ran through Gear's head, none of them sounding fun.

"Yeah…," Grunted Static, giving Gear a strained smile that always soothed his troubled mind, even before it went from Hayesville, Pop. 5013 to New York freaking City. He raised his arms despite Gear's muttered 'easy', managing to get them up to the height of his shoulders before wincing and lowering them. "My back and the wall broke my fall. Just going to be sore tomorrow. And the night after that… and the night after that. But I don't think anything's broken."

"Well, no. You're not weeping that much."

"Low blow, bro." He smiled again as he held out a hand, which sizzled with blue energy, calling his disc back to him from the damp grass that it rested against. After grabbing it he tucked the disc under his arm and moved to confront the now contained Hotstreak, who was already doused with the spray of water. Gear followed, his brilliant mind being extraordinarily helpful by rattling off fun concepts like _Spinal Damage! Permanent Back Pain! Deformities! Undetected Internal Injuries! _and even more useful contemplations of how 'Low blow, bro' rhymed perfectly in iambic diameter, so much so that a little café junky traveling in his Subway Hell repeated the wonderful phrase over and over and over.

"Alright, Hotstreak! What's your deal?" Static managed to ignore his likely burning shoulders to half lift Hotstreak from the ground with his powers, pulling them nose to nose. "First you try to burn down a park, leaving the community to clean up your mess, then you attack some kid who needed Gear's autograph to calm him down, next you drag us miles away from home when you attack the Governor's _mansion_! What gives?"

Hotstreak glared, angry face reddening while he undoubtedly contemplated swearing out the superhero who was about to send him back to the very place he made a break from a week prior. His angry features smoothed out to a smug sneer, and he shrugged as best as he was able to.

"Told ya, Lightning rod. I like to burn shit."

Static sighed in disgust but didn't look surprised as he used his powers to crash the captive BangBaby against the very wall Static recently found himself unhappily acquainted with, creating enough static electricity to keep Hotstreak stuck like a bug in custard until the cavalry arrived. Speaking of which…

The heroes heard the squishing of tramping feet on muddy ground as finally the police made their way to the back part of the once ornate garden, which now held areas of burnt vegetation and cinder piles. Finding Hotstreak adequately secured and soaked, Gear pressed a signal on his wrist and retracted the zap cap, catching it with one hand.

"Nice catch."

"Neat, huh? I hear the pitter-patter of teeny tiny police feet." Gear glanced at Hotstreak. "We're not going to get any other answers from him, we better go."

Static nodded as he moved on his disc, flying up and away as Gear followed, the police finally arriving to surround the Bang Baby. Gear flew closer to his best friend than usual, worried that his injuries from the fall were worse than Static wanted to let on to his enemy… and to his friend.

"You really think that his attacks in the last week have really been random?" Static asked. Gear was already several steps ahead of him, calculating the probability that the flares of violence were really just their favorite fire junky letting off some steam, and not some part of a, now hopefully thwarted, plan. Hotstreak, though no low threat, was not some sorta Joker-wannabe like Ebon. If it was the shadowy Bang Baby Gear wouldn't have a doubt that there was some reason behind his violence. Evil but cunning, Ebon probably wouldn't have risked recapture just for the sake of it. Hotstreak, on the other hand, was a bully in the more classical sense, with a temper that led him as much as Gear's mind moved himself.

"Well… I've studied the attacks." Gear mentally added, 'If by studied you mean finished analyzing them before I even realized that I was thinking about it. Man, that's so creepy.' "First was that park in front of our old Elementary school, in the middle of the night. There were no materials found there, no evidence from the wreckage that Hotstreak would have wanted to destroy. Just looked like petty vandalism hopped up on the Bang's crazy gas." _So what else was new?_ "The second attack fits Hotstreak's pattern of bullying, like he did to us-" _But especially you_ "-when we were in high school together. Preying on kids didn't go out of style when he got the Bang, I guess." Sometimes, Gear felt, the worse people possible were the ones who got caught in the blast. It just wasn't fair. Why couldn't it be a furniture salesman that got the laser-vision, which he used to cook marshmallows in December? But then he'd remember his friend Static… maybe all the trouble boom babies caused were the price a city paid for one Bonafide Electrified Superhero. Gear forced himself back to the main train of thought. "As for the governor…"

"Maybe Hotstreak voted Democrat, and was protesting the results." Static joked, causing Gear to snicker at the thought of Hotstreak waiting patiently in line at a polling station to perform his civic responsibility and vote for either candidate.

"Wow, Static. You know which party our governor represents. I didn't know you had it in you. Way to go." Gear, of course, knew. He couldn't help knowing, despite not really caring about local politics at his young age. Sorta hard to find such things important when you're facing death and destruction every week. But now he soaked up information like a sponge, more travelers aboard the crazy train- No, subway system. Each fact and allusion jostling each other for his attention; he can't just NOT KNOW which party represented his state, and the other states, and which parties in Canada had a foot-hold and it was very, VERY-

"Well, the chances were 50/50." Static smiled

Gear was rescued from his thoughts by Static. Thank God for Static/Virgil. Without giving it much thought, Gear shot Static a grateful smile, barely visible through his helmet's bulletproof shield. Sometimes Richie felt as he was likely to get trapped the ever widening gyre of his mind. "_The center cannot hold"_…_Damn it; I didn't use to be able to quote things like that. I don't even like poetry._

When he was a kid his family visited New York, of all places. He didn't remember why, and they never talked about it. But he remembered that labyrinth of a subway that raced under the mammoth city. It scared the four-year-old Richie, especially the gap where the Subway reached the station, which the travelers would have to walk across to reach the other side. The image of Richie falling down into the dark space between the subway car and solid ground stayed with him for the rest of his life, and now was being recycled as his mind seemed to spiral farther than he ever thought possible.

Static was still staring at him. Crap, how long had he been floating still, staring into Static's eyes but not seeing him, thinking about so many things at once? Gear was about to crack a joke, laugh at Static's, say anything to normalize the situation when Static interrupted.

"Hey, so, we're in a nice part of town. Wanna get changed and grab something to eat?"

Gear wasn't expecting that. "But you're hurt. Don't you want to get home, rest yourself? Or get checked out at a clinic?" _Even better._

Static just shrugged, and then winced in pain. "Naw, I'm cool." He caught Gear's smirk as his actions proved his words false. "What if I have a concussion, and have to keep conscious?"

"You're flying up here with me, not rolling around the ground in your own vomit. Your head's fine, it's your back I'm worried about, bro."

"It just needs to be rested against something nice and soft… like a booth! I know just the place!"

"Or a bed… V, a late night snack would be nice, but what about the time? It's nearly midnight, our parents could check on us at any moment for something. What if they get concerned when 'we' don't wake up?"

"Those mannequins of yours are first rate, Gear. It even looks like we- they're breathing."

Gear sighed. "I don't want to push our luck." He looked up again. "Oh god, V, don't look at me like that. Come on, we could get in trouble. I mean, Richie and Virgil show up in a town outside of Dakota five minutes after Gear and Static go _salida_? I know civilians sometimes seem a bit… thick in regards to us, but it just takes one observant person to… Oh, for the love of-! Stick your lower lip back in, I'm going! I'm going!"

"Yes!" Static pumped his fist, and then winced, holding it to his chest. "Ow, you didn't see that. Come on, I know where it is. It has awesome fish and chips."

"Since when do you like- Hey!" Gear sped up to catch his partner as he made his way west over the light-spotted city. "Wait, I don't have any money!"

"Don't worry about it, I- Ow…" Static lowered his arm that he had lifted up to wave off Gear's comment. "You didn't see that either."

The two friends raced off from the sky to touch the ground

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When Virgil opened the door for him, Richie didn't think about it. 

It was a nice place, evidently owned by determined people, being a Fish and Chip eatery so far from the sea. Richie was surprised it was open so late. It was the type of restaurant that had blue checkered cloth and every second order was clam chowder.

"Adam took my sister and us here for her birthday. It was real out of the way but he said it had a nice atmosphere. I saw him use the coupons, though." Virgil led them down towards the back of the restaurant to a booth next to a window, gesturing for Richie to sit down first. Something tickled the back of the prodigy's mind he obeyed, but he was already distracted by noting the various emergency exits of the buildings and the percentage of their chances for escape in case of Metahumans, fire, or, if _Spiderman II_ taught him anything, Dr. Octopus. With Virgil and him watching each other's backs, the chances were pretty good.

Richie smiled at Virgil over the candle that separated them, and then gave the offending wick a look. Virgil got the picture and licked his thumb and forefinger, then caught the flame between them with a hiss. Richie felt certain areas of his body tighten at the move, but that reaction had become so common in his adolescence he was a pro at ignoring it, and instead said, "Much better. I'm sick of anything above 300° for the rest of the night." Richie rested his chin on the palm of his hand and raised his eyebrows. "So… 'blow your father with that mouth?'"

"Aw man…" Virgil laughed, relaxing against the booth as best he could. "I heard that line from some movie and I was just dying to use it. It just sorta slipped out."

"Maybe you deserved to get knocked around a bit."

"Ok, he was attacking…" Virgil lowered his voice. "The governor. And I'm the bad guy?" Virgil asks in exaggerated offense.

"He was attacking the governor's hedge animals. And yeah, that statement was wrong on so many levels." Richie paused, pretending to count on his fingers. "At least four."

Virgil crouched over the table towards Richie, which really just involved him moving forwards as his shoulders were already in a hunch. "I'll say sorry next time he breaks out."

Richie came forward to meet him. "To him? Try saying sorry to me, I was faced with a very, very bad image for a moment."

"I'm sorry." Another flash of white teeth.

"It sucked…" Richie trailed off. Once again he was hit by the feeling that something was off. Really, really off. Was… Virgil getting red? It was hard to tell with his pigment, unlike Richie's which burned with sun freckles by early June. Richie unthinkingly moved closer and looked analytically over his glasses, noting the sudden hitch of breath from his best friend. He narrowed his eyes. Reddened tone, difficulty breathing… perhaps Virgil was coming down with a fever? It normally did not take Virgil so long to recover from battle. "Are you tired?"

"Huh?" Virgil looked at him in apparent shock. "Of what?"

"What do you mean?" Richie pulled back from Virgil, who quickly averted his gaze. Richie grinned knowingly. "Aw, man, I got you…" Virgil swiftly brought up his menu; placing it in such a manner that it almost looked like the upside-down menu was growing spiky dreadlocks. "I told you it was late. If you're so drained, you shouldn't have got us to come here. We could have checked this out some other time…"

"Yeah… no! I'm fine." Virgil peeked out from behind the menu. "I'm great."

Richie smiled and nodded, then flipped Virgil's menu for him. His best friend was even more stubborn than he was. Arguing about it would only strengthen his resolve and waste valuable time. The quicker they ate, the quicker they got home and Richie put Virgil to bed. Or flew him to his street. The other way would just be weird. Richie let out a huffed laugh when Virgil had enough sense to look embarrassed after his menu was righted, and stared at his own in smug complacency. He wished he was always so insightful about his friend. But he had to admit, he was getting better.

"So…" Virgil began, hoping to change the conversation. "You think Static and Gear are gonna get some commendations for their heroic rescue of the governor's… plants?"

"I dunno…" Richie figured he'd conform for a bit, and decided on the chowder. "From what I remember about his campaign, he's more likely to focus on the fact that he was attacked by a Bang Baby than that he was saved by Bang Babies."

Virgil wrinkled his nose. "I liked the other guy."

"V, who was the other guy?" Richie grinned, and laughed when Virgil spun a long finger in a mimic of the universal, 'whoop-de-do.' He didn't mean the taunt, though. V was brilliant, the smartest kid Richie knew, especially on his feet. He was even sent to a special school due to his prevails in science, and that was for brains he didn't get from a freak gas explosion. Richie once again envied Virgil for the luxury of forgetting the unimportant details of life… Hell, even the important ones, from time to time.

"The fish and chips are good."

"Yeah, I think I heard that somewhere," Richie wryly noted, then changed his tone "I don't have to eat; I don't have any money on me."

"Look, don't worry about it; I'll take care of it. Just get what you want." Virgil locked his eyes back on the menu.

"I'll pay you back" Richie muttered, still unsure.

"Or not. Whatever, doesn't matter." Virgil shrugged and stared at the menu.

Again Richie felt that feeling, like he was staring into the pulse of fear, the eye of dread. Basically, at something very, very bad. And it surrounded Virgil. "Clam chowder then," Richie stated, staring out the window. Alright, his intuition was telling him that something was wrong with Virgil. Intuition, Richie figured, is just when your subconscious knows something that the rest of your brain hasn't quite come up with it yet. It was the first time in a long time since Richie's brain was spinning slowly enough for there to be a discrepancy between his subliminal and superluminal minds. Must have been Virgil, he always distracted him. Well, it was time to speed things up. _Ok_, Richie figured, _we'll analyze the way we used to, before when we didn't even had to think about the questions before the answers were right there in blinking red letters. Go through the things that stood our hair up, one by one. Put together the pieces of the puzzle. _Richie began his mental outline, which visually appeared to him as black writing on the whiteboard kept at the gas station.

Weirdness 1: Virgil stopped us in mid-flight, seemingly spontaneously, to go to this specific restaurant.

a) Despite it being near midnight.  
b) Despite us both being tired.  
c) Despite him being injured.  
d) Despite him not seeming very hungry.

Possible explanations: Unknown.

Weirdness 2: Virgil jogged ahead of me to open the door for me.

a) Despite him being the injured one, not me.

Possible explanations: Guarding against poisoned handles? Unknown.

Weirdness 3: Virgil shows evidence of ill health

a) Shortness of breath.  
b) Blushing of cheeks (well, as close they can get, anyways).  
c) Minute shaking of the fingers.  
d) Very fine sheen of sweat evident around the temples and fingers, which  
are leaving marks on his menu.

Possible explanations: Fever. Fatigue. Possible Infection?

Weirdness 4: He keeps staring at me!

a) It's getting freaky. I wish he'd stop.

Weirdness 5:

Richie sighed as he interrupted his list with the morbid musing that he was slowly turning into a computer. Soon Virgil will have a Macintosh for a best friend… well, not a Mac. If he was going to be a human robot, he'd at least be a decent one. Weirdness 5… well, this definitely wasn't a place Virgil and he normally would go for a bite. Firstly, their table had the classy signature of a tablecloth, and none of the items on their menus started with 'Mc' or contained a pun. There weren't even placemats where Richie could lead Red Robin out of the maze and to his steaming chicken dinner. (That was wrong on only two levels). Richie absently poked the single pink carnation that was settled in a thin white vase on the window's side of their table with his finger, and then ran his hand along its delicate stem. Most notably, the closest things any of their usual hangouts would have had to this flower were sugar packets or maple syrup. And only in a roundabout fashion, in that they either came from sugar cane or maple trees, meaning both have roots (another pun, why did his mind torture him so?) in vegeta-

**SNAP**

No. God no… Richie looked at the head of the dying carnation, having been broken from its stalk with clenching fingers. But Richie had other things on his mind than the one more casualty from an already disastrous evening for the area's plant-life. Virgil's eyes moved from Richie's hand back to his face, where Richie warily met his gaze head on. He felt a hollow lump in his stomach as the pieces snapped together as terminally as the carnation snapped apart, the bright red letters finally rising up from his subconscious to batter Richie with the most offensive four-letter word in the English dictionary. Surprisingly, it began with 'D', and wasn't referred to, as Richie originally thought, as 'see you next Tuesday'.

Richie watched as Virgil's eyes stared in a manner not unlike the gaze of a dog Richie once met moments before it became road-kill. It all made sense, and no sense at all. _He said it had a nice atmosphere. _Richie crushed the carnation in a fist, knuckles going nearly as white as his face. _But where's YOUR coupon, you son of a bitch?_ Richie swallowed as he looked away; the flash of anger broke way to a wave of fear and confusion. How could this be possible? Virgil was his best friend! His straight best friend! Richie LIKED his straight best friend! He ADORED his straight best friend! Virgil was the best part of his life… why was he trying to ruin it? What the FUCK?

Richie drew back, eyes narrowed even as Virgil's were wide in panic. The electrical hero raised two hands and lowered them again, as one would calm a frightened animal, or perhaps beseech vengeful god. But the table remained deafeningly silent. Richie let out a slow breath. This was his punishment for all the times he scoffed at the phrase, 'too smart for your own good'. Figures his analytical mind would gleefully scrutinize its way to this situation but then leave him in the lurch to try to figure out how the hell he should deal with his straight best friend tricking him into a date. The silence persisted, each hero suddenly more afraid of the teen sitting opposite him than all the Metabreed combined.

And that was why both boys were so relieved when their restaurant was attacked by zombies.


	2. Light Exercise and a Nice Chat

I would like to thank everyone else who took the time and energy to review my story: **sche z., Onyxlight, redturtle, Kioa, MeLaiya, ValkrieCrow, pitaC89, tsuka-kun, MsManga, Shadowstar, Kai michi **and **Mendaia**. You don't know how much your comments have helped me.

Disclaimer: Still not mine, still no profit. And all is right with the world

Warnings: Slash, minor violence.

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Mind the Gap

Chapter 2: Light Exercise and a Nice Chat

Richie felt himself scream as a moldy hand burst its way through the window, causing glass to fly inward.

"Get down!"

Virgil grabbed Richie roughly by the wrist to rush them away from the falling shards, but the blond was already halfway out. They dropped to the floor and gracelessly crawled the rest of the way to the relative safety of a nearby alcove, ducking from sight.

"What was that?" Richie gasped.

Virgil turned to look back out the alcove to look at their table, paused for a moment, then turned back to Richie. "Zombies."

"What? No way…" Richie pushed past Virgil to look, and then retracted himself back into the shadows. "Ok, looks like a zombie. Fine. But how do we know it's not some metahuman with greenish-grey skin and sunken pits for eyes? Who…who just happens to also have a clearly visible ribcage over a sunken stomach, and smells like rotting meat?"

Virgil didn't look convinced, and in unison the boys peeked past the wooden divider. The creature was at a 90° angle, half of its body still outside and its torso on their table. It let out a guttural groan as nails worn to bloody stubs scratched on the table in frantic flails. It raised its demonic head, revealing a black gaping hole where the mouth should have been, and Richie's heart clenched when its sockets seemed to focus directly on them. It let out another rasp as it continued to try to pull itself through the window with just its bony fingers, resulting in an earsplitting **SNAP **when one of its brittle digits broke.

The boys ducked back behind the barrier.

"Richie?"

"Yeah?"

"That's a zombie."

"Yeah." Richie sighed and took off his glasses to rub his eyes, suddenly feeling very, very tired. The other patrons on the restaurant had just begun to catch on that the crash they heard wasn't the clumsy dropping of plates, and there was suddenly a melody of screams aided with the percussion of scraping chairs.

"Oh my God!"

"Someone call an ambulance!"

"He's on **drugs**!"

Luckily due to the time of night the only people in the restaurant were a handful of couples and drunken students from a nearby college, so there wasn't a large riot as the group began to scramble for the front doors when they realized that the man hanging over the booth in the romantic corner of the restaurant wasn't all that human. They lived close to Dakota after all, and they probably were already drilled with the safety measures regarding unexplained events: Run Away! Run Away!

Virgil, however, never got that talk. "Looks like he's got company," he noted, lips pulling back to reveal his teeth. Richie put on his glasses and looked again. A pale woman with a matted helmet for hair staggered to the opening to the restaurant, before clumsily slumping over the window and tumbling within the diner with a thud. Another figure appeared on the other side of its still floundering brethren. It was flabbier than the others, but the 'missing half its face' thing pointed to the fact that it was obviously dead. It reached an arm into the restaurant towards the boys, releasing a howl as the rest of its body was blocked by the walls. Virgil shook his head again. "Man… real-live zombies. Well, you know. Where's a shotgun when you need it?"

"V, this isn't Resident Evil, nor is it Texas. Closest thing we have to weapons lying around are the butter knives." Richie wasn't being completely serious with his reply. He knew if given the chance Virgil would likely never have used a gun, anyways. Even against the already dead. Richie ducked a hand into his jeans. He only had two zap caps on him; the rest was with the rest of Gear's equipment, hidden behind a dumpster in an alley next to the restaurant. "I think we should be able to contain them. As long as any more don't show-"

"-up?" Virgil helpfully finished as two more cadavers came into view, groping mindlessly past the jagged glass.

"Well, that just happened at the most ironic moment possible." Richie winced as he saw a zombie slit its arm from a sharp shard, but no blood leaked out from the long ago withered arm.

"Look, we can't let these guys get out of sight long enough for both of us to run to where we left our stuff. At least the restaurant got cleared of witnesses." The corpse-woman raised itself from the floor.

"Dead people tend to do that. I don't like where you're going with this, V."

"Tough." Virgil grinned. "Alright, I'll stay here and keep them around while you get more caps. Then we'll take these guys out, get changed, and find out what the hell is going on."

Richie frowned as he considered the plan. He'd have to go through the kitchen, out the back door, run down the alley, climb a chainlink fence, then grab the stuff behind the dumpster and go back the same way. The entire journey would take approximately two to two and a half minutes, time Virgil would have to face alone with the zombies. "Why am I the one who automatically gets to turn tail and run?" Richie asked, despite already knowing the answer.

Virgil let out a quick electrical blast when the corpse-woman took too many shuffling steps forwards, causing her to fly back against the wall and then lie in a twitching pile of limbs. Virgil then shot Richie a 'duh' look.

"Jerk." The blond boy grinded his teeth and pulled out the two zap caps, thrusting them in Virgil's waiting palm. He hated it when V was logical, it was like someone using Richie's greatest weapon against him. "Don't let them overwhelm you."

Virgil watched as the first zombie finally pulled itself fully through the window only to get tangled in the tablecloth, rolling itself and the fabric onto the floor. It let out a toneless bellow of despair as it attempted to free itself from its self-made cocoon.

"You know? I really don't think that'll be a problem."

Richie took one last look at the broken window, watching as the female zombie twitched and started forward again, and then took to the kitchen with a run. "If they get too close…!"

"I'll walk away." Virgil amended his statement when Richie shot him a reproving look. "Very quickly."

Virgil did have a point, the zombies were sorta pathetic. Still, the worst things happened when the two of them let their guards down. But Richie didn't have time to argue further, so he just pushed his way through the doors into the kitchen.

"Hello! Is anyone still here?" He rushed through the apparently quickly abandoned kitchen. A halibut was even burning on a skillet. "Fire!" He figured that might empty the kitchen of any stragglers more easily than, "Your diner's being attacked by incompetent zombies!"

Receiving no answer, Richie ran the rest of the way through the kitchen, barging through the backdoors to an alleyway that opened up into the street. A small section of the alley in the back was blocked off by a locked chainlink fence, evidently to keep unwantables out of the restaurant's trash. Richie rushed to the back of the alleyway, and then considered the fence for a moment. It would be harder getting over it without Virgil to give him a boost, but it wasn't as if he had a choice. Besides, spending the last few months chasing after the big and bad and ugly made for an excellent workout. He wasn't as physically agile as Virgil yet, but he was miles from what he was before. Richie reached as high up as he could, gripping the links tightly, and scrambled up the fence. It was all gravy until he got to the top, where a misplaced hand sent him falling the remaining feet to the ground.

Richie figured that he should have expected this. If he didn't somehow sprain his arm on his trip, the night would have been just too goddamned perfect. He pushed himself up from the ground with his right arm, the left one still beneath him. A concerned beep beep arose from the dumpster, as Richie's most prized invention crawled out from under it.

"Did… did you record that?"

_Beep beep_

"Yeah, remind me to confiscate that later… or photoshop a… a matrix move in there or something." Richie groaned and made it to his feet, testing his arm. Ok, it wasn't sprained, just a bit bruised. Nothing but embarrassing, mostly. "Backpack, think you can unlock the fence for me?" It wasn't really a question. The machine beeped an affirmative and scrambled to do the work.

Richie held his breath as he grasped at a well hidden backpack (the bag, not the bot), removing the belt where he held his caps. He probably didn't have time to change into Gear, and he could only hope that the police wouldn't arrive until then. The last thing they needed was anyone seeing Virgil using his powers to whack zombies with tables, or Richie hanging around with Gear's robot.

"Backpack, do a full scan of the area. Are Virgil and I the only humanoid beings in about a 200 foot…" Richie turned and widened his eyes, stepping back. "I guess not."

At least a dozen shadowy forms were swaying at the mouth of the alleyway. It was too dark to see their faces, but Richie could tell what they were. His biggest hints were all the missing limbs, and one of them had his neck at a 90° angle.

"You know, it's so much easier to mock the protagonists in a horror movie for splitting up when you're not in one…"

He held his breath as the undead crew moved closer, nearing the kitchen door. He couldn't let them in there, where they'd catch Virgil unawares. He and V saw enough zombie flicks to graphically imagine the potential ending to such an encounter. As pissed off as Richie was at Virgil, he liked his friend's brain in his cranium, not in some monster's stomach. And Richie left the door ajar, too. Stupid, stupid!

"Hey!" Richie threw a zap cap when the crowd got too close to the kitchen. It was in an awkward hurl, underhanded to get it over the fence. When it landed it let out white gas to create some sort of fog, and a loud sizzling bang. Not very helpful, he felt in retrospect, but it did what he intended it to do. The monsters kept their attention on him, and maybe hopefully oh please oh please Virgil heard the noise when the cap went off.

Richie backed away as the group moved forward again. He was closed in, but not trapped. His supply of zap caps were dwindling, maybe not enough to take out all dozen. But his boots were just waiting for him behind the dumpster… it seemed like a good time for a strategic retreat.

"Backpack, guard!"

Richie turned his back on the fenced area, and kicked off his shoes and pulled out his boots. After twisting around to put them on, he stared at his twining hands while he calculated. He should have more than enough time to finish lacing the boots and gather all their items. Judging by the rate of speed the creatures traveled and the distance between them, Richie should have had about 45 seconds before the situation became critical. So Richie was very surprised to hear a frantic pulse of beeps from Backpack and the sound of the chainlink fence falling inwards.

He fell backwards in surprise and caught himself with both his hands behind him. Half sprawled, he raised his eyes to meet the gaze of a giant. Richie took in the appearance of the new opponent, analyzed his potential power, and Richie's own chances for escape or victory against him in the same time it took him to take another breath. If only his body worked as fast as his head, he wouldn't be stuck on the alley's dirty floor, one foot with its boot half-tied and the other just in a pair of ruined socks.

Decay had not withered this one's muscles. Its pale skin and dried bullet-hole on its chest was the only sign of its true state, unlike its more far-gone companions. Perhaps it was the reason this zombie managed to make it to the end of the alley and push down the fence approximately 35 seconds sooner than it should have. Its face was covered by a greasy beard, and its hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. It wore a plain black tank top, baring arms covered with gang tattoos. It had to be over 6 feet tall, Richie guessed perhaps 6'7", and its girth was huge, completely blocking the way out to the street. Its army boots crunched over the fallen fence at it started towards him, hefting the lead pipe in its hand.

Well, Richie thought, that was just overkill. Completely unfair. Zombies shouldn't use weapons. They're ZOMBIES for crying out loud. But this one was quick, and evidently didn't find simple concepts such as opposable thumbs and how to use them as difficult to grasp as the others. And its eyes… there was a kind of intelligence there, not like the empty stares of the other monsters. But the kind intelligence of a hunting animal, not of a human being. Cunning, not intellect. Still, this zombie was not like the dismal corpses that he had left Virgil to contain.

And there Richie was, unable to blast away, sitting on his ass on the ground beneath it. He had Backpack and a belt of zap caps… about nine of them. Quickly his mind calculated various plans of action, and as usual the best plan was the most obvious one. Richie grabbed a zap cap with his good arm, and threw it at the monster before it could take another step, then moved his hands down to finish locking his boot. The trapped creature swayed, and then jerked itself forward, forcing Richie to roll to avoid the huge mass of the corpse landing on him.

He almost made it, but his bid for freedom was thwarted by the weight of the 200 pound zombie's stomach landing on his knees. "Hey!" Richie screamed unhelpfully. "Get off!"

He lifted himself on his hands and strained his neck to view his situation. He was trapped on his stomach by the weight of a smelly dead biker guy. 'Ain't this the stuff dreams are made of?' Humphrey Bogart crooned Richie's subway's crowded celebrity compartment.

"God, I hope I was being sarcastic there or I'm more screwed up than I thought…" Richie muttered as he grabbed another zap cap. Backpack was doing its best to pull the heavy zombie off Richie's legs, but it'd have to use a lever to completely lift 200 pounds of decaying muscle. Richie twisted to watch the mouth of the alley. The group of zombies was getting closer, having been steadily moving forward since Richie first saw them. Transferring the cap to his left arm, he threw as hard as he could manage at the closest three. An electrical charge caused the ones caught in its blast to tremble and fall to the littered ground, but Richie counted at least seven left standing. He had to get out of there.

"Backpack! Give me a hand!" The robot gave one last determined tug on the zombie's tank top before crawling over to Richie's head. "Help me pull myself out…" The stench of death grew deeper. Things were starting to look pretty bad…

Then the fence glowed with purple-blue electrical energy as it was lifted upright again, and was thrust against the crowed of zombies, sweeping them up like broom. It then circled in on itself, trapping five of the undead hoard in a makeshift cage full off squirming limbs and evil cries.

"Static!" Richie yelled, knowing who it was instantly. "Watch out for their teeth, if their bites don't kill you, the tetanus will."

"Isn't tetanus for rust, though?" The African-American youth hovered between Richie and the remaining free zombies on the back of two kitchen pots. Richie thought he looked as ridiculous as he ever saw him.

"Actually it comes from exposure to the bacterium _Clostridium tetani_, which… Can you get the gross corpse off my foot now, please?"

"Sorry." Virgil raised his hands. He lifted the metal binds of the zap cap, the growling zombie with them. He hovered the creature over the dumpster, and after lifting the lid of it, dropped the corpse with a downward jerk of his arms. "How did it manage to get the drop on you? If they were going any slower they'd be going backwards!"

"That wasn't like any other zombie, ok? It was… some kind of… Uber-Zombie." Richie rolled on his back. Virgil carefully took his upper arm to help him up. "It must have been at least four times as fast as the others. Besides, it's not like I didn't trap it."

"It just trapped you right back." Virgil reminded him before shutting the dumpster lid as an afterthought.

Richie glowered as he grabbed another zap cap, briefly thinking about using it on the living. As if he wasn't already irritated at his friend enough… "Can we concentrate on the zombies, now?" Richie asked, raising back an arm to throw his weapon.

But he never got to. After nine of their numbers were defeated, the final three creatures stilled, before collapsing to the ground like puppets with broken strings.

Richie frowned. "Hey!"

Virgil dropped from his pots, allowing them to clatter on the ground behind them. "I don't like the sound of that, bro. You sound like you're disappointed."

"We should be fighting three zombies right now. Six, including the three I shocked and thus should be getting up soon. I want to know what happened." Richie checked his watch. It wasn't any time special, 12:24, so it wasn't a 'stroke of midnight' thing.

"We just fought of a hoard of Dawn of the Dead rejects and NOW you're complaining of things not making sense?" Virgil asked, handing Richie his other boot.

Richie crouched to put it on, but did not tie it up. "If they were from Dawn of the Dead, we'd be in real trouble. Those guys could run." He straightened. "How did you manage to take out the ones in the diner so fast?"

Virgil shrugged. "Well, the ones who were outside the window just gave up. The two that were inside just got a visit from the inventions you left me. Then I heard a bang and came out here. But now that I've rescued you from the decaying flab of doom…" Virgil grinned as Richie glared, but refused to meet his partner's eyes. "We better check on the ones who left. We can't let them just wander the streets to nibble on pedestrians." He moved to the backpack abandoned next to the dumpster. "And I was thinking of the earlier Dawn of the Dead… from the seventies."

* * *

The three other zombies were found soon, collapsed on the other side of the alley's wall. Gear had the fun job of examining the zombie that was so different from the others, which thanks to Virgil had added the stench of leftovers from a fish food restaurant to its wide repertoire of stenches. What was even more frustrating was that Gear found absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about it, compared to the other cadavers. When the police arrived the superheroes explained what happened with censored detail, but did not stay long. They then split up to look for clues, Gear checking out the nearest graveyard to the east, Static to check out the morgue in the west. They discovered nothing; no graves were overturned, no bodies unaccounted for. After an hour the two boys reunited on the roof of a tall apartment building. 

"I found nothing," Static shook his head and sighed. "I even combed the streets on my way back. No strange walkers and no screams of terror."

"Backpack has been listening in to police reports and calls coming in for the last hour and a half. So far the only thing that matches the descriptions of the monsters we just fought was… a call describing the zombies we just fought." Gear looked up. "The owners of the restaurant called in after they fled the diner." He then sighed and shook his head. "I'll have Backpack tell me if something comes up, but so far that means there was only one attack."

Static let out a huff of air. "Either they were after the diner, or they were after us. And I don't think zombies are fighting for fishes' rights to life."

"That leaves us… but the zombies didn't see Static and Gear-"

"-they saw Virgil and Richie." Static sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair.

"Right…" Gear moved his hands from Backpack, standing up. He had already mentally gone through all possible explanations, running through the short list of all those who may know their secret identities. Gear then decided to set that mystery aside for now, and instead work on the one where he could actually get some concrete answers. "Static- V… what happened back there?"

"Uh… we were attacked. By the undead…"

"Before." Gear frowned. They had been putting this off long enough.

Static didn't think so. "This isn't the time. It's late, the walking dead know our secret identities…"

"I want to talk about how you were acting before we were attacked." Gear crossed his arms.

"Let's talk about the zombies."

"No, let's talk about the _date_!" Gear growled as a hand tucked under his crossed arm moved into a fist.

Static looked away quickly, running a hand through his hair again. "C-can we not talk about this out in the open? I don't want to be wearing a mask."

If it was an attempt to put off the conversation, it was ruined by Gear ordering Backpack to pick the lock of the stairwell leading into the building. The two boys entered the shadowy stairway, Static practically dragging his feet. Gear just wanted it over with. While Static used his powers to activate the light, his partner ordered the robot to guard the next few flights down, so the heroes could safely take off their visors after shutting the door. Finally, Richie was resting against the wall across from his best friend, who was staring at a point between his feet.

"So go."

"Ok" Virgil said. "Ok…" He looked at Richie in the eyes. "I thought… it would be the perfect plan, you know? If you weren't interested, you wouldn't know anything was going on. And even if you started to think that… you wouldn't believe it, or you'd ignore it."

Richie managed to look a bit guilty. Perhaps he _could _have just acted dumb, instead of cornering Virgil with his accusing stare in that booth. But he didn't think about NOT acknowledging it. It shocked him so much it practically bowled him over, and Virgil's presence gave such Richie such a feeling of safety that he didn't feel the same nervous need to think every reaction through that he felt at all other times of his life. His friend was still talking.

"And if you were interested… you'd catch the signals, and we'd be happy and on a date. It was foolproof."

"Yeah. Real smart." Richie interjected, and then sighed, shaking his head. "You took me on a _date_. With out my knowledge, or consent…"

Virgil nodded, and licked his lips, before bravely venturing, "You sound upset…"

Richie snapped, kicking the back of the wall with his heel. "Upset? Upset doesn't even cover it! Tonight I dodged fireballs, saw my best friend smashed into walls, killed a defenseless flower, almost got my eyes poked out by flying glass, tumbled off a fence, got crushed by a falling corpse, was almost gangbanged by zombies, flew clear across town to hang out in a graveyard after midnight, and was compelled to practically do an autopsy of Dead Man Crushing's fishy skin after it got a nice soak in the trash. And you know what, V?"

Virgil mutely shook his head.

"Not one of those things was the worst thing that _happened to me TONIGHT!" _Richie raged, kicking the wall again for good measure.

"Ok, man… ok…" Virgil held out his hands in an appeasing gesture. "I got it, you're straight. I'm so sorry… please." Virgil looked at him, begging with his deep brown eyes. "Don't dump me on this."

"Oh no, I'm gay." Richie responded without thinking. Hey, he had wanted to tell Virgil since he met him… well, only deep, deep down. The top part of him wanted anything but Virgil to find out about it. But really, when would he get a better time than this? "Still mad, though."

"W-what?" Virgil gathered his wits, and managed to look hurt. "You're gay? And you haven't told me?"

"Don't you try to lecture me about honesty, you Non-Consensual Dater. At least I never took you out to a dinner and a movie." Richie felt a strange feeling of gloating satisfaction. Ha! Now who's the one who's been left in the dark?

"How… how long? Have you known?" Virgil looked in shock. He couldn't be that surprised, if he was so certain of Richie's heterosexuality, he wouldn't have tried to pull that stunt.

"I think my first clue was when I wanted to marry the Green Ranger. You?"

"Oh." Virgil shook his head, and gestured to himself. "I'm not gay."

"I know _that_." Richie responded, rolling his eyes. Then he added in a tone that was unusually cruel. "I mean when did you get in your head this batshit crazy notion about dating me unawares?"

Virgil stopped, and looked away again, thinking. Or buying time. He looked so lost, Richie almost felt sorry for him. But then he remembered the danger being brought to their friendship, and grew angry again. His friend answered. "I… I'm not really sure. It sorta started small, just a few little things… but for the last few months…" He looked at Richie, "You're really not attracted to me at all?"

It could have ended there. It would have been so easy to say, 'No V, I've never looked at you that way, and never will. Best friend only. Dust mops are more appealing to me, and they're more practical.' But Richie could never lie to his best friend, especially when he was looking like he was moments away from dribbling into a humiliated puddle of shame.

"Well… yeah, I'm attracted to you." Fearing this would urge Virgil on with his stupid idea of them as a couple, he quickly added, "But I'm attracted to a lot of people!" Richie thought back to his various fantasies, visited by The Rock all the way to Ewan MacGregor. There was even a time when, against his will, an amorous Batman transformed into someone who strongly resembled a certain shadowy bang baby. A_ lot_ of people, Richie repeated in his head, wincing. "But if I actually did anything with all of them, I'd be dead within a week. Either from exhaustion or an STD cocktail." Richie mentally shut up the giggling pervert in his subway, who found his last word very funny. 'The pervert in my brain isn't college-age. He's a freaking 12-year-old.'

Virgil shook his head. "So, let me get this straight…" Richie's pervert giggled again. "You're attracted to me, I'm attracted to you-"

"You just think you are. It doesn't make any sense that you'd-"

Virgil spoke over him. "You're attracted to me, I'm attracted to you. We already like each other. We're not seeing anyone… are we?" Richie shook his head. "Then what's the problem?"

Richie chewed on the inside of his cheek, and spoke as much to himself as to Virgil. "I never thought about this… what if something goes wrong? I don't have any scenarios regarding procedures or proper-"

"You don't have any for a zombie attack, and we winged that one pretty well."

"Actually I do." Virgil gave him a skeptical look. "I do! Ask Backpack. It involved a hayloft and a ladder."

"Geez, Rich. Do you have to analyze everything?" Virgil asked in a strange mixture of frustration and affection.

"Yes!" Richie yelled in a sharp tone that surprised both of them. "Yes, I _do_! Ever since just before I've become Gear, it's been getting worse and worse! Do you know what it's like to innately know how to pronounce _Clostridium tetani_? To calculate the average circumference for the holes in your cheerios every breakfast? I can't even read my favorite comic anymore without doing some sorta… intricate critique on its writing style, art form, and continuity blunders, before wondering what they prove about the head writer's daddy issues!" Richie stopped for breath when he saw Virgil's shocked features, but continued to his climax. "The only person I didn't have to scrutinize was you. The only time I could stop investigating everything was with you. You were my break, V, and you _ruined_ it!" Richie tightly crossed his arms again, hard enough to hurt, and looked away.

"Richie… I'm sorry; I didn't know it was so bad." Virgil timidly placed a tense hand at Richie's shoulder, which relaxed when Richie didn't make a move to shove it off. "…But it doesn't have to be that way. We'd make it work, I-"

"I don't want to try to make it work, V…" Richie looked back at him. "I'm happy the way things are. I'm ecstatic, ok? Oh look, I made another pun. I do that now, too." The blond got back on track, trying to make his opinion as clear as possible. "Our friendship is too important to me to risk it for something that just isn't worth it. Things couldn't get any better than this, right? Dates are not essential to me, but what we have right now is."

"Rich…" Virgil said.

"…yes?" Richie asked, waiting.

"…actually, that's all I got right now. Um… Look, I know you're wrong, ok?" Virgil carefully moved his free hand to Richie's other shoulder, looking at him with a new intensity. "Just give me the night to think of a good response, so I can convince you too."

"No." Richie said firmly, enouncing the word carefully. He gently took both of Virgil's hands in his own. "That's it. I suggest we both spend the rest of the night forgetting this… disaster ever happened, ok? We can fix this." The genius nodded while his brain worked rapidly behind his eyes, trying to convince itself that it was true. Virgil face grew dim as the electrical hero removed his hands from his friend's grip. "This night never happened, as of now. It will never be mentioned again, and we'll both be happy and secure and tralalala." Richie gave a pained smile as he snapped on his helmet.

"Richie…"

Gear looked back at him expectantly.

Virgil paused. "…I still got nothing." (1)

Gear rolled his eyes behind his visor. "Backpack!" He called, opening the door. The robot crawled forward on spindly legs, attaching itself to the hero's back. Gear turned one last time, and his stoic form cracked a bit. "V… please. Don't dump me on this." Static was silent before mutely nodding and putting on his mask. When Gear turned his back again Static let out a husky breath and followed, slamming the door with far more force than was necessary.

The only evidence of the superheroes' visit was a lonely light bulb illuminating the darkness.

* * *

(1) Not an original joke, I'll admit. I've seen variations of this on _The Simpsons_ and_ Arrested Development_. Still, it's just such a hilarious send up of the 'lightly whispered name in sorrow' cliché that I had to use my version of it. 


	3. Relationships Are Based on Compromises

**Author's Notes:** Because the list is too long to list everyone, I would like to emphasize my thanks to my repeat reviewers and give shout-outs to my new ones. Thanks to** Pirate Bathsheba**, **Lynn**, **Phoenix87**, **SilverKitsune1**, **nightwalker3**, **Kioa**, **SevenPM**, and **writebook**.

I would also like to dedicate this chapter to **Writebook**, because she knows I can't draw and thus this is all I can offer her.

**Warnings:** Slash, minor language. Chapter may go through various revisions for the glory of proper grammar.

**Disclaimer:** Richie and Virgil are not mine, and I refuse to profit from them. This is just light fun and training.

* * *

Mind the Gap

Chapter 3: Relationships Are Based on Compromises

Unfortunately for him, Richie could not forget about that night. Not because of what happened between Virgil and him, or so he adamantly told himself, but because the threat to their secret identities chose the worse possible night to turn up. Every time Richie studied the way in which the zombies appeared, he had to be reminded that at the time the monsters were interrupting an intense stare between the two teens. Images of the zombies' manner of attack and locomotion were spaced between small touches from Virgil's hand and bright smiles of white teeth, smiles which in retrospect seemed painfully wide compared to the look on Virgil's face after they left that stairwell.

While he poured over many legitimate, and quite a few amateur, websites regarding legends surrounding zombies, Richie continued to be distracted by thoughts regarding his best friend.

_What if he doesn't like me anymore?_

_What if he thinks I don't like him anymore?_

_Did he tell anyone about this? Oh God, I wouldn't be able to speak to Daisy or Frieda again. _

_What if the moment he got home he started weeping like the main character in a Hilary Duff vehicle and Sharon or Robert were right now coming to my home to beat me into a bloody pulp for hurting Virgil's feelings?  
_  
Richie didn't know which of his outlandish thoughts were more out of character; Virgil crying over rejection or Sharon and Mr. Hawkins acting in brutal violence.

Eyes still on a webpage surrounding Haiti voodoo, Richie turned up the dial of his computer. It was set on a station Richie created during one of his slow days; it downloaded pretty much every audio available on the internet and then shuffled them in random order, leading to a very interesting program. Avril Lavigne ran next to an extract from the McCarthy hearings, the soundtrack of episode #120 of The Simpsons played after one of JFK's final speeches. Sometimes Richie wasn't quite sure why he programmed it in such a manner, most the time he was subjected to something he disliked. But the Bang Baby had begun to grow bored of only listening to nice things. If he truly enjoyed the music or play or whatever in the background, his voices would settle in a content little trance, and he'd be free to focus his thoughts without distractions; but Richie wanted to be distracted. At the moment that was easily done, as his inner literary critics jabbered angrily as he caught the tail end of his least favorite play in the whole world.

"O, no!" The station wept. "A lanthorn, a slaughter'd youth, for here likes Juliet; and her beauty makes this vault a feating presence full of light. Death, lie though there, by a dead man interr'd."

"Grow up, you overdramatic moron. She's not really dead…" Richie muttered as he clicked a link. _You've only known her for, what, a few days? Not a moment ago you were you were pouting over that Rosaline ch- Oh, fugu is connected to zombie raising rituals? _Richie clicked the link on the dangerous blowfish dish. _But I don't think the restaurant served sushi…_

…_the restaurant that Virgil took me to…_

…_for a date…_

Richie angrily turned up the volume for the hated play, feeling oddly satisfied as the famous lover went through his death throws. _Melodramatic blockheads …both of them. _It wasn't that Richie hated Shakespeare; in fact he liked some of his plays, like _Macbeth_ or _Love Labour's Lost. _But he found Shakespeare's most famous romance to be filled with a plethora of characters who, if he'd ever did meet, he'd want nothing better than to smack them over their heads many, many times, with the copy of the text Mrs. Bennet forced on her hapless 10th grade English students. And that would hurt because the tale of the two brain-dead lovers was sandwiched between _Timon of Athens_ and _Anthony and Cleopatra_, plus cliffnotes longer than the play itself. Back in grade ten, when Shakespeare was still a second language, Richie found those notes extremely useful, but now they just served to thicken the book for Richie's imaginary assault on the two title characters.

Juliet thought she had problems with a disapproving Dad? Richie shuddered to imagine his father's reaction if he ever heard that Virgil asked him out. He wondered for a moment what would piss his father off more, if he was dating outside his race, or inside his gender? Well, he didn't need to be a genius to answer that. Mr. Foley would become a card carrying member of the NAACP and set Richie up with Missy Elliot if he thought it would prevent Richie in indulging in the love which dare not speak its name. Richie knew his father wasn't lying to him when he said he would try to let go of his prejudices, but he also knew that if Sean Foley knew his son was gay, worst case scenario, Richie would be kicked out of the house. Coincidentally, it was also the best case scenario.

Why the hell was he thinking about this? It was not an issue; Richie had no plans to date ANYONE while under his parent's roof, especially not a certain black teenaged boy.

_Ok, Rich. Stop thinking about Virgil. Stop thinking about star-crossed lovers. Stop thinking about your dad, and how very, very, very gay you are. Start thinking about something useful. Like rituals regarding the raising of the undead. _

Richie alt-tabbed his way to his word processor, and shocked himself to find at least ten pages of notes already written on the subject. Richie then vaguely remembered that in between the rants in his head against supposedly brilliant plays and the social turmoil in his own life, he had written and organized several different theories regarding the monsters' origins and at least a half dozen manifestoes concerning the actions Static and Gear should take in apprehending the creatures.

"Well…" Richie just sighed and saved the program. "Hopefully I'll catch up with my brain soon, before I completely lose my grip on reality, as much as it sucks."

A booming voice barked upwards from downstairs. "Richie, are you talking to yourself again?"

"No, Dad!"

"You know what happens to people who talk to themselves!"

"Yes Dad, but I was talking to Virgil!"

A silent moment passed where Richie guessed his father was muttering something about wishing that Richie was just going crazy instead, but at least he didn't say it loud enough for anyone else to hear. And that, in Richie's opinion, was a definite sign of progress. He had to remember to give his Dad a smile or something later for a reward. It surprised the boy how training his father out of his racism was a lot like training a dog out off pissing itself.

Speaking of people acting like misbehaving puppies… Richie turned his gaze towards his instant messenger, which had remained suspiciously silent. The blond felt a clenching of his stomach. Virgil promised not to dump him because of what happened last night. Well, he didn't promise, but he did nod! A definite motion of affirmation regarding the stability of their friendship and- shit, since when did he start thinking like a lawyer? The boy sighed and straightened his shoulders. _Maybe it was time I started thinking more like a friend. _Richie double clicked on GLFan4 and was faced with a blank message box, fingers twitching over the keyboard, beginning to fly.

"Hi, lol! Wanna come over?"

Ack, the dreaded 'lots of laughs'. Delete delete delete.

"So… what's up? How's the developing crushes on people with vaginas thing coming along?"

Oh, so deleted.

"Why haven't you contacted me? Do you hate me? Do you realize I've been contemplating why you haven't sent me a message for the last eighteen hours? You're turning me into a girl, V! A girl who waits by her phone on Fridays to get a call and who gets boys to check on a piece of paper, 'Do you like me? Yes, no, maybe?' Does that make you happy?"

Richie highlighted the message and pressed backspace.

Well, considering that Richie was the rejecter and not the rejected, he supposed it fell on his shoulders to make the tough first move in healing their shaken relationship… a move he just couldn't do over the internet. He clicked the small x on the corner of the text box, and watched it disappear. He then reached under the bed and pulled out the cool, comforting weight of the Shock Vox.

Still staring at it, Richie printed out the ten page report on he written with most of his mind elsewhere. Maybe the attack from the zombies was a good thing, after all. Well, not good. But it provided a great excuse…

Richie turned on the walkie-talkie and laid back, the receiving end at his ear. It was answered precisely after the third ring, giving Richie an amusing image of Virgil counting down the tones of his fingers until the exactly right moment occurred, after too many rings passed for him to seem desperate, and not enough to make it seem like he was trying to hard.

"You alright?" Virgil's voice sounded from the other end.

"Well, you're not hearing any screams of fear or pain, are you?"

"Not from your end, anyways."

"Sharon on a rampage again?"

"Adam did something, somehow, that proves he's a dickweed or something. I don't know, I wasn't paying attention."

Richie smiled. They both were trying so hard to keep things normal between them. Well, Richie figured, that was good. Sure, things might be awkward for a few days, but soon that time will pass and everything will be normal again. Funny, when he became a genius he'd figured his optimism would be the first thing to go. "I've been investigating our… new friends we've met last night."

"Yeah, I was wondering why you called me on this… you know, if it wasn't an emergency."

_Because I knew if it was from the Shock Vox you wouldn't ignore it. Even if you were angry at me, you wouldn't risk ignoring me if I was in trouble. _But that was way too honest to say out loud, so Richie just said, "Well, this is kinda official."

"Find anything useful?"

"I don't know… I found a bunch of stuff; I was thinking we could sort through it together. You know, at the station." Richie held his breath as he listened to the boy on the other line.

"…yeah, I could do that. I could definitely do that. Be there in an hour."

"An hour?" Richie frowned, feeling oddly apprehensive. "What are you going to do in that hour?"

"What?" Virgil sounded defensive. "You don't think that I have my own research to do?"

"Nope."

"Homework, then?"

"Do it at the station; I'll help you."

"Yeesh, Richie, why can't I say 'Sure, I'll be there, see you in an hour?' An hour isn't that long a time to do anything… nefarious. What, you think I'll be doing something bad?"

"What makes you say that?" Richie shrugged and moved the Shock Vox on his other ear, speaking as casually as he could. "I was just wondering why it would take you an hour to meet me somewhere where it would normally take you ten minutes, max." In truth, Richie was desperately afraid that Virgil would use the time to buy roses or rent singing sopranos or something terrible like that. Richie chewed the inside of his cheek. Virgil better had gotten the signal that Richie wanted to move on from their talk that never happened last night. If not, he'd have to rely on sock puppets or something.

"Oh… you just sounded suspicious, is all." Virgil muttered.

"Psh! Me? Suspicious? No. No, no, no. Au contraire, mon frere…"

"That means brother."

"We call each other that all the time. Anyways, I was just curious, is all. Fine, take an hour. I'll meet you there."

"Right…" There was a silence, then awkward chuckles from both sides. "Right. See you there."

"Uh huh. Later, bro." Richie clicked off the Shock Vox. Well, that wasn't too horrible. It wasn't even the most awkward conversation he had in the past twenty-four hours, but that went without saying. Either way, Richie already had a plan in dealing with Virgil all figured out.

He would at no point acknowledge what happened the night before. Even if Virgil brought it up point blank, Richie would make no sign of hearing him. He will act friendly, kind, and say blazingly funny things so that Virgil would know that Richie wasn't mad at him anymore, for why would he be? Absolutely nothing had happened. And eventually Virgil will move onto his next friend-turned-love-of-his-life, and Richie would give him a 'thumbs-up' over his controller while they played video games and mutter something about her being hot, and all would be right in the world again.

* * *

Richie was quick to note that his plan was not working. For one thing, Virgil hadn't said much to help get their friendship back on track. In fact he hadn't said anything since he let himself into the gas station; he just slumped down on the couch opposite Richie's desk and commenced on a one-man staring contest. Richie frowned, but kept the center of his shoulder blades facing his friend's gaze. 

"Well, from what we can tell from the attack, the zombies have a target, and that target is probably us. Meaning, behind the violence there is a plan and behind the plan there is a person. I mean, the undead don't just rise and start attack specific targets, there has to be someone controlling them."

Richie risked a look back at his partner. Virgil didn't look like he was listening; instead he was throwing a beta version of a zap cap into the air, and catching it again. Occasionally he'd use a blast of static electricity to bring back the item when its trajectory got too out of control, and after the third time Richie let out an irritated sigh.

"That's a beta, you know, so be careful. Are you even trying to pay attention?"

"No." Virgil answered truthfully. "I don't really know how you can, either. After what-"

"-Because I'm smart. S.M.R.T." Richie quickly interjected. Like he was going to let Virgil have an opening for what would undoubtedly by the second worse conversation of his life.

"Geniuses don't quote The Simpsons."

"If Einstein were around he'd _write_ for The Simpsons." Richie took off his glasses to nervously clean them as he continued. "Anyways, the closest thing I've discovered to accurate descriptions of zombies occurring outside of fiction is where people were drugged into appearing dead, and then moved into slave labour."

"The things we were fighting were definitely dead, not faking it."

"I know, V."

"I mean, one had its head half-off."

"I saw that, V." Richie stretched and carefully balanced his spectacles back over his nose. "It's not too hard to believe. You control electricity, Hotstreak can control fire, Aquamaria had water, and we have Bang Babies that control darkness itself." Richie shrugged. "I can't really give you a definite scientific explanation for those things, either. Not without sounding like Scotty from Star Trek. I guess if Bang Babies can do all that, it's not hard to believe that one can control dead organic matter, too."

"Another Metahuman, then." Virgil said in a strained voice, long fingers playing with the zap cap.

"Sorry if I don't have something more exciting than that, but… yeah."

"It's always another Metahuman." Virgil noted.

"Well, the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. Do you have any other ideas?"

Virgil frowned, and then shook his head. He looked like he wanted to say something, and Richie knew that that would probably be a very, very bad thing to happen, so the genius quickly tried to regain control of the conversation…

"I think we should look into missing corpses. The zombies had to come from somewhere, and evidently they weren't from the town of the attack. And an Army of Darkness road trip… that can't be too hard to trace-"

Of course, Virgil was not a person who could be easily shut up. "How can you act like nothing has happened?" The boy again threw Richie's gadget into the air, and only Richie's angry yelp stopped Virgil from letting it drop to the floor. "Watching you… it's almost like some weird sort of Stepford thing, like I just walked into an alternate universe where last night never happened."

"Last night didn't happen!" Richie could no longer stand to see his newest invention being held hostage and strode forward to grab it in midair after Virgil tossed it up for the umpteenth time. "I mean, the zombie part happened. Sure. That's all I remember, though. So that's all I can comment on."

Virgil looked at him incredulously, and started off the couch. "You can't just warp reality like that, Rich! I mean, I guess you can, but not when you have someone along for the ride, mainly me."

"Oh, but you can? I'm not the one trying to change reality, V. I'm just getting it back on track." Richie emphasized his words by placing the newest cap on his desk and blocking it with his body in case Virgil made an attempt to snatch it.

"Pretending that we never… that you don't know, that doesn't solve anything, Rich." Virgil ran a hand through his locks as he looked at everything in the station that wasn't Richie.

"Well, it gives you a nice escape when you figure out that you made a really humiliating mistake." Richie said as he sat down at his desk again, swiveling around to have his back to Virgil and forcing the end to the conversation.

Well, it probably would have if Virgil didn't find such an imperfect moment to drop a bomb. "It wasn't a mistake! I love you!"

Richie back straightened, and after a few moments it began to tremble. "Yeah, sure, man. I love you too."

"No, I don't mean the macho back-slapping Die Hard version of manly platonic love. I mean, dating sort of love… Damn it, Richie. Just because you're my best friend doesn't mean you get to be a dick about this! Stop laughing!" Virgil growled in indignation.

Richie finally let out a small hysterical sound that sounded somewhere between a squawk from a dying parrot and a bray from a donkey. Well, if that sound didn't convince Virgil out of this insanity, nothing will. "I'm sorry…" Richie shook his head, fiercely glad Virgil couldn't see his smile.

"Well, you should be. These past few months haven't been easy, you know!"

Richie rolled his eyes. "Actually, I can imagine. I've been through it before with you, remember? With Frieda and Daisy…"

"Are you saying that I don't take these kinds of things seriously?"

"No!" Richie sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "I know you're trying to be honest with me." The blond then turned to straddle his chair, resting his arms on its back as he stared at his friend. "Just like you honestly believed that you cared so much for Daisy and Frieda… but, where are they now?" The blond shrugged and raised his hands in the air, adding in an accusing tone, "Really, V. Can't you have a close friend that you don't try to date?"

Virgil stood up with a glare, and began to prowl around the station. "You're throwing all this crap up against my face, from months ago!"

"Serves you right, for trying this on someone who knows you so well." Richie frowned and moved to block the door, despite the fact that that Virgil wasn't heading towards it but was instead wandering the building like a trapped tiger. "Seriously, though. Can we drop the angst quota at least… fifty percent?"

Virgil crosses his arms and faced Richie again. "Well, you shouldn't have laughed at me saying that I love you! And… hey, you're doing it again!" He gave his friend a hurt and angry look as the corner of the other teen's mouth gave a damning twitch.

Richie covered his mouth with his hand. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll stop, I swear…" He shook his head and turned away again, forcing his lips behind his palm. Ok, think of something really sad. Dead babies. Atomic warfare. Dead babies because of atomic warfare. Damn it, since when did he find dead babies so funny?

"If anything, because you're my friend you should be less of a prick about this, not more of one…" Virgil finally finished circling the territory and slumped back on the couch.

"You're right." Richie quickly agreed, and dared a glance behind himself. "You're right," he repeated. "It's just…" He thought back to Romeo and Juliet and their all-powerful, never-ending love that took only chilly a night at a balcony to develop, and felt a headache coming on. "Not you, too…"

There was a sudden silence from Virgil's end, before he spoke in a voice that reminded Richie of his friend when he was much younger. "So there was someone else?"

The genius moved to his chair and grabbed onto its back, taking in the sight of his friend. The boy had given up on the staring contest, and was currently tugging at one of his baggy sleeves. Richie tilted his head, giving his friend an incredulous look. He couldn't help but to feel like he should be insulted. "Would you care if there was?"

"Yes," raised the half-whispered answer. Richie swallowed as a strange tingling feeling rode up his arms. Virgil gave him some respite by being too embarrassed to meet Richie's eyes, thus not noticing the unexpected comfort his words gave him.

Richie sighed and sat on the chair, then pushed off the desk so it rolled aimlessly towards Virgil. He wasn't worried when it started to tip backward, and let Virgil use his powers to roll him the rest of the way safely to his side. "Well, you don't have to worry about that. There hasn't been anyone even close to…" Richie waved his hands awkwardly and sighed, depositing himself across from his best friend. "And there's probably not going to be anyone for a long, long time."

"Why not?" Virgil looked up at his friend.

Richie frowned, and then shrugged. "I dunno. Why do you want to know so much about my love life, anyways?"

"Well…" Virgil started. "The fact that I want to be a part of it is a pretty nice reason, I think."

The other boy sighed and leaned back against the couch. "No you don't." He closed his eyes tightly and continued. "I don't know what you want, or why you think you want what you think you want. I don't know how the hell this whole thing started; I mean, I didn't send any clues or anything… frankly, I don't know why you're 'exploring' or 'experimenting', but I don't want it to be with me, ok? And saying that all of the sudden you love me isn't going to make this seem any less superficial or spontaneous than it already does."

"But I do love you!" Virgil yelled in frustration, then lowered his voice. "Trust me, ok? I know how I feel, and how I've been feeling for months!"

"Damn it, V! You don't just wake up one morning and realize, 'Hey, I'm in love with this guy! Nifty.' I don't believe in the random doves with roses, in angelic choirs, just one moment and bam instantaneous romance crap. It takes years to fall in love with someone…"

"At least five?" Virgil pointed out. "Is five years enough time? Cause I've known you since we were eleven, Rich. Or am I supposed to wait for a longer deadline to pass, like maybe in a couple more weeks? Let me just go and start saving up for the roses…"

"Please don't." Richie rolled his eyes. "V… I don't know why you're acting like this, but people don't just wake up gay."

"Oh, and you're now a huge expert on the subject of homosexuality? You're all as experienced as me!"

"Well, I definitely have more experience in, you know, liking guys. Something that according to you you've only started doing a few months ago and evidently there's only one unlucky object for THAT obsession."

"Well, I'm the only one of us who has actually been on real dates. So-"

"-No!"

"Between the two of us, we could make it work. You know, I'll be the expert on the dating and relationship parts, and you can give me all the advice for the whole man-o-man stuff, cause knowing you you've probably gave that thing a whole lot more study than what's necessary… or healthy." Virgil moved on his knees so that he was looming over the resting Richie. "Can't we just give it a try?"

The other boy paused, and then minutely shook his head. "What if something goes wrong?"

"Then it goes wrong, and we go home, and laugh about it and never mention it again." Virgil paused for emphasis, then continued. "I don't want our friendship to suffer because of me acting like a moron and trying to get something out of this that isn't there either, Rich. Can't you just trust me enough to give me the chance to prove to you that we can… that I'm not just practicing or doing this for the hell of it, but because I honestly really like you, and not just like but I mean the penultimate version of like… but you're also my best friend and I'll never find a friend closer than I am with you, and I won't risk screwing that up?"

Richie tried to follow Virgil, but about halfway through the monologue he couldn't take the torture Virgil was putting the English language through, and held up his hands. "Fine."

Virgil blinked. "Fine? …Oh."

"Yeah, fine." Richie shrugged and sat up to meet Virgil's eyes. They were then both sitting with their legs crossed, faces less than a few inches apart. "We'll do something Friday. You think of something, because I have no idea."

"Already done." Virgil raised a dark hand. "Well, not done, but I have a few ideas."

"No flowers!" Richie added. "Or chocolates, or any of those sort of wooing things that are so popular around Valentines Day. I'm not going to be the girl in this, and even if I was, I would hate that. It's like one person is buying the other, it's based on rituals from a time where women didn't work and needed proof that their partner would be a good provider and it's dated and we don't need to do that."

"Absolutely not." Virgil placed a hand over his chest, stating such in a solemn voice that belied the sudden giddy lightness in his eyes. "Scout's honor."

"Ok." Richie nodded, speaking quickly before his brain figured out what was going on and tried to regain control of the quickly snowballing situation. "Friday is as good a day as any. It's a classic."

"Yeah. Friday." Virgil agreed, nodding his head. "How about… from seven to eleven?" Virgil frowned when Richie firmly shook his head. "What's so wrong with seven to eleven? Four hours isn't long, we spend three times that amount of time together every weekend."

"It's not that." Richie folded his arms. "I just don't want to reminded of this disaster of a date- which, just so you know, V, I still suspect it will be- every time I enter a convenience store."

"Eight to twelve, then?"

"Well… unless we strike lucky and take out this undead militia we're dealing with within five days, I sorta want to keep our weeknights open towards the little things. Like fighting crime."

Virgil threw up his arms. "Seven to ten thirty!"

Richie gave Virgil a once-over, and then nodded. "Fine, then. We're going to go out on Friday. We'll meet up at seven, and after three and a half hours we will conclude the date, and go home. If somehow a miracle occurs and no one gets his eyes poked out, we will arrange another meeting, perhaps within a week after." The blond quickly added, "But most likely not."

Virgil was quiet for a moment, and then his face broke into a relieved small, and for a moment Richie thought everything would be alright after all. "That wasn't too hard, was it?"

"It was nearly impossible." Richie straightened up. "One more thing!" He widened his eyes and thrust a finger upward, deepening his voice and carefully enouncing his words to show how important it was for Virgil to understand his next statement. "I don't want you to open any doors for me or stare into me like that strange way you did in that diner. I'm going on a date with you, but I don't want you to treat me any different before we go, or when we get home, ok? As far as it is, we're still best friends. The small detail that I'm about to, against my better judgment, go on a date with you doesn't change that."

Virgil frowned, and tilted his head. "The fact that we're going on a date isn't a small detail, Richie. It's a big, awesome detail, it's not like you can make me stop thinking about it."

"Well, learn not to or we won't even have a date at all. If we ever go to a movie again, I will demand buffer seats. If we ever eat out, I will attack any candles or flowers on sight. There will be no sneak attacks like last night, and if I suspect one, I will freak! Ok?" Richie stared hard into Virgil's eyes.

The other teenager evidently figured he had gained too much territory to risk it by arguing further with his reluctant companion, so he just spread his hands out and nodded. "Alright, I get it. We're taking this slow."

"We're not dating." Richie stubbornly reminded him.

"Not at all. We're just best friends who happen to be going out on a date this Friday."

"Right." Richie nodded, relaxing. Virgil didn't know it yet, but this date would be the best possible experiment to prove his hypothesis: That Virgil had no idea what he was thinking about and was temporarily off his rocker. Richie smiled back at his friend as his mind continued to race. Just because an experiment has a negative outcome, doesn't mean that the trial itself was a pointless waste of time. It'll just terminally remove this stupid notion from Virgil's overly imaginative brain and allow the two boys to move on to the not-so-distant future where Richie would again be teasing Virgil about his romantic exploits over video games.

Richie's plan was working after all. It just had a few hiccups to be smoothed over.

"So... back on the zombies... what do you think will provide better material for research? Evil Dead, or its sequel?"


	4. Burial Groan

Thanks to all those who reviewed my last chapter, and thanks to my new reviewers, **Dea Puella**, **FireTears**, and **birdsofmorrigan**.

By the way, World's Finest has updated their Static page with a huge amount of content, especially regarding episode summaries. Very good for a fan fiction writer who actually has only seen, like, half the series. _Coughs._ Even if the main reviewer doesn't seem to like Richie so much, it's worth a look. http/wf,toonzone,net/WF/staticshock/ (Replace the commas with dots). Another good resource for the ffnet writer is wikipedia, if just for an explanation of Static's powers. Anyways, on with the show.

**Warnings**: Slash. T for minor violence, more major language.

**Disclaimer: **The characters of Static Shock do not belong to me, and I make no profit by the creation of this story.

* * *

Mind the Gap

Chapter 4: Burial Groan

"It's impossible." Gear angrily muttered to himself as he flew across the darkened Dakota sky. _That's all there is to it._ Seeing a cement wall shooting towards him dangerously fast, the irritated boy quickly shot himself upwards so that he was flying along it vertically. The cool air did little to soothe his troubled mind, which was currently raging with frustration he hadn't felt for months.

Gear was patrolling the area of Dakota, heading towards the southern part of town. His task was to visit the various graveyards and morgues within the city and finish setting them under the surveillance system that he and Static started the night earlier. Nothing was discovered during patrol the night before, the same night Richie agreed to the most doomed date since Abe Lincoln decided to treat his wife to a night of theatre, and it looked like the eventless evening was set to repeat itself. But even if the superhero's figure appeared calmed and determined as he raced towards his final destination, mentally his mind was locked in a heated battle of which it had been completely unprepared for. Gear had outwitted criminal masterminds, invented technology years ahead of his time, and had managed to do both while switching most of his subjects to advanced courses mid-semester because he just couldn't take the boredom anymore. When the boy faced a problem, it was quickly solved, no matter how difficult or complex. Thus, Gear was shocked that he was stumped by his homework.

He briefly considered the idea that he had copied the equation incorrectly, but knew that that couldn't have been the case. Even if he had, Richie's photographic memory hadn't failed him since it first came into full form, and the equation was in front of his mind's eye as clearly as it was on Mr. Película's projector. Perhaps the eccentric Mr. Película was the one to make the mistake… but no. The strange teacher may give others the impression of being a spaced-out whack job with a Hollywood fetish, which was fair because in Richie's opinion he was exactly that, but when it came to mathematics the man was sharper than anyone. His knowledge of equations was second only to his knowledge of movie trivia; he would not miswrite a question.

When Richie glanced at the question and scribbled it down, he had been too distracted in catching up to really look at it, having managed to get to class five minutes tardy thanks to the late night the night before. He figured it was because he was unfocused that he didn't get the answer right away, before he even finished copying down the question. Later when he got home he was even a bit excited when he was faced with a challenge, something that would temporarily distract him from thoughts of Virgil. He started to grow a bit confused when he failed to solve the puzzle after an hour. By dinner he was slightly concerned, as was his parents when Richie began creating diagrams with his asparagus. By the time Gear and Static split up to visit the various graveyards, Richie was neck-ripping, hands-slapping, teeth-grinding, red-seeing LIVID.

The image of an infinitely twisting Möbius strip of equations and theories laughingly can-caning at Richie's mental insufficiency was briefly dispelled by the sound of Static's voice over the intercom. Normally Gear would have noted the irony of Virgil being the welcome distraction to the very thing that Richie originally used to distract himself from Virgil, but at the moment he was too busy figuratively beating his head against a brick wall.

"I've been thinking," proclaimed Static in a nauseatingly cheery tone.

"Jesus have mercy." Gear muttered bitterly, mind still elsewhere.

"Ha. You know, maybe these zombies aren't really that bad."

"What?" This managed to get the blond to pause, and the superhero tilted his head to his intercom as he began to hover.

"I mean, what did they do? Break a few windows, screamed a lot. One fell on you, yeah, that wasn't great. But how do we know that they're actually evil? I mean… maybe they just want to communicate…"

Gear felt his frown deepen as he listened to his friend. The hell? "Are you high?" he asked. "Because in the middle of a mission is a real bad time to start."

Static laughed again. "Good one-"

Gear scowled. _Actually it was one of my weaker cracks, since I'm sorta distracted by an equation that **defies the laws of physics and logic**! _It just wasn't fair. Richie was a superhero; he wasn't supposed to break laws.

Static was still talking. "Maybe they just need counseling. Violence is a sign of needing attention, you know. Or maybe our zombie buddies just need a friend."

Gear rolled his eyes and blasted forward again. What was up with Static? The only times Virgil got this… _goofy_ was during days before that he finally got something planned with Daisy or some girl he had been mooning over- Oh. Shit.

Gear let out a pained whine. "Aw man, are you gonna be like this all week?"

"Hm? Like what?" Gear could hear the smile in his partner's voice.

"I wish you were high."

"Only on life, my friend."

Suddenly mathematics seemed to be a very fun thing to do, and Richie returned his attentions to the unsolvable question. After a few moments of silence which were occasionally broken by Static soft hums of the tune from 'Hey Ya', Richie let out a hissed curse. "It is literally unfeasible to square a circle! Squaring a circle is impossible because if you start with a circle of radius 1 you would need to construct a square whose side length is the square root of pi!" The genius then spotted the dark cemetery on the horizon, and increased his speed.

"So, find the square root of pi." Static voice advised him over the intercom, aggravatingly serene.

"You know I can't goddamned find the square root of pi!" Gear yelled, clenching his fists together as his voice traveled through the night air. Beneath him a window was brightened by a light as someone bellowed out a protest against those "damned cats".

"If anyone can find it, bro, you can," the syrupy voice cooed. "I believe in you."

"…Oh, go to hell." The intercom blasted a low chuckle in response, and Gear let out a breath in relief. "Now I know you're just messing with me."

"Mostly, yeah." Static answered, but then continued. "Seriously, though. It's just a math problem, so relax. It's a beautiful night. The moon is beautiful, the stars are beautiful, you-"

"Static, you promised!" Gear protested, feeling his mood grow even worse.

"-are really getting worked up over nothing. Why don't you just write down what you just told me? I mean, if you think it's impossible, it is. Maybe your professor just wants you guys to say that, and explain why?"

Gear chewed on his cheek. He didn't want to just give up on problems when his genius intelligence didn't provide him with a fast answer. It went against every determined bone in his body. What was worse, he had a nagging inclination, an irritating itch in a distant corner of his mind, telling him that he was missing _something_, the one thread, and if he'd just find it he could unravel the whole sheet hiding away the solution. However, he was too cranky to actually say that. "Because, that's why."

Static sighed, but the dampening in the superhero's spirits only lasted a brief moment before he returned to half-humming, half-whispering Gear's now most hated song. Gear stopped, and landed on the gate of the Chinese cemetery. He narrowed his eyes as he spotted something in the distance, and interrupted Static's melodic mutterings of how his baby don't mess around because he loves her so and he knew that fo' sho with an announcement.

"There's someone in the middle of the graveyard. Several someones."

Immediately Static was all business. "Wait there for me. ETA is 35 minutes-"

"No, they're not zombies." Gear frowned. "I'm going in." He cut off Static's protests by lowering the volume of his receiver, but kept his mike open. He moved to the ground and furtively hovered through the monuments, lowering himself to the back of one when he was in earshot.

"…alright," he heard. "How deep do I have to dig?"

"All the way," came the answer. The voices were young; Gear guessed they were his age. The voice continued. "And when you're done you have to stomp on the coffin three times, and lie against it until sunrise. But that's after you're finished with all the graves."

The chuckles erupted from the group of teens, and Gear had enough. He shot up in the air with enough sound to catch their attention, and floated there, arms crossed across his chest. "Sorry kids, I think you're a bit confused. The Klan meeting has been moved to the inside of the police station. Don't worry, though, I'll be more than happy to escort all of you to the proper area."

The kids stared at Gear, mouths agape. There were four of them, dressed in dark clothes that were faux grunge. They looked old, dirty, and smelly, and it probably cost the kids some cash to get them that way. Three of the four had orange bandanas around their arms, but Gear didn't recognize them as any specific gang. The cans of graffiti and shovels at the teenagers' feet made the reason for their nightly visit clear.

One of the teens, someone that Gear recognized as one of the many faces from the halls of their school, finally gathered the courage to speak. "Nuh uh, no way, man! You totally have the wrong idea!"

"Yeah!"

"Oh?" Gear raised his eyebrows, and tilted his head. "The graffiti is so you can express your grief for the dead through interpretive art?"

"No, I mean about the racism! You heard about the zombie attack, right? Over at Surrey?"

Gear shrugged. "Might have." He continued to state at the other kid, projecting an image of bored patience, like a cat lazily staring at its captured mouse.

"Right." The youth nodded. "Well, see, this was just for kicks. You know, cause our new boy, Louie… Wave your hand, Louie!" Louie did so. "You know, as an introduction to our gang, we figured we'd tempt the zombies from their graves by, you know, knocking them up a bit, and, you know, knocking on their doors, so to speak. We're sorta heroes, in a way."

"No you're not." Gear corrected him.

"Totally not." The female member of the gang agreed, and looked back at Gear. "But I swear, the only reason we went to this cemetery was because it was the closest, ok? We ain't hatahs, yo. My boyfriend is Chinese."

A boy, whose Asian features Gear had only just then managed to make out, spoke to the girl. "I'm Vietnamese."

"Oh, I ain't talking about you." The girl answered, before widening her eyes and slowly turning to stare the boy in horror. He stared at her in returned, mouth opened in a surprised 'o'.

Silence ruled the area for a several moments before Gear spoke. "Well then. May I interrupt this awkward moment with a brief recap of the situation?" Gear didn't wait for a response. "Thank you. So, you're not planning on vandalizing the graves because you're a bunch of racist, bigoted, outdated rednecks who attack other people due to your own feelings of deserved self-loathing. Instead, you're a bunch of moronic, juvenile, selfish punks who would wreck a grave regardless of the suffering you might cause to the deceaseds' loved ones or the disrespect to the dead your actions would show, all for the sake of a cheap thrill. Is that a fair appraisal?"

The group looked down in shame, and the first one to speak, who Gear figured was the one running the show, spoke again. "…well, when you put it that way, we do come off sorta bad."

"Mhmm."

The kids looked at each other, and the leader continued. "You know what, man? You're right. What we were doing was wrong, and even though it wouldn't have hurt nobody, we still shouldn't have done it." He stared at the unimpressed Gear. "And we won't think about doing it again." The superhero continued to stare at him in stoic judgment. "And we're sorry."

"I'm glad to hear it." Gear answered, honestly.

"So, thanks. And we're going to go now…" The group started to back away.

"No you're not." Gear informed them.

"Totally not," the leader sighed. The kids' shoulders slumped in disappointment, but they did not seem surprised. Gear looked around idly, enjoying himself for the first time that night.

"It's a beautiful cemetery." He noted, staring at the ornate monuments, Mandarin characters engraved on their sides. A brook ran through the area's center, leading to a constant harmonious trickle that sounded like little bells. "Obviously well cared for, probably by the families as much as by the groundskeeper." Gear let that thought sink in, reminding the wannabe vandals of the people their actions would have hurt. He then let out wicked grin. "But it could be better."

He sent the teenagers to work, having Backpack unlock the supply cabin. The groundskeeper would face a nice surprise in the morning, to see his work for the day already done. After assigning most of the kids tasks, Gear beckoned the Vietnamese boy over with his finger. He had just faced some pretty crushing news, and Gear pitied him enough to spare the teen some of the harder work. Plus there was something else he needed to do.

"Put your arms in a circle, please." Gear asked.

The boy looked at him in confusion and obeyed. The superhero stared at the circle of arms, moving around the boy as he stared. Then, he gently took the elbows and pulled them so that they both made 90° angles. He stared at it again as he moved his hand to cup his chin in thought, and then let out an angry shout that enveloped the graveyard and caused his newly appointed workers to flinch.

"It just can't be done!"

* * *

"Remember to bring those new flowers tomorrow, first thing!" Gear called out to his retreating workforce half an hour later. The group did not look back as they each gave a reply of half-hearted agreement. Gear frowned at the lack of enthusiasm, but then cheerily called out, "I know where you live!" 

That got him a few flinches, and the superhero grinned. Oh yeah, they'd be back with the flowers. Still smiling, he waved at them. "Bye!" He then turned to give the graveyard a long evaluation. In the area the kids worked, the graves and statues were scrubbed clean, the grass was freshly mowed, and there wasn't a weed in sight. At least he had accomplished something this night.

Backpack clattered to the side of its inventor, having finished setting up the surveillance system. Gear smiled at it and gave it a pat. "Nice work. So, what do you think, Backpack? Will my indulgence in slave labor lead to the megalomania which will turn me into a supervillain?" He glanced at the cleaned up cemetery. "I think it was worth it, anyways."

The invention didn't answer, but clicked itself to Gear's back. "Aw, come on, Backpack. If you don't answer, I'm talking to myself. And you heard what Dad says that'll do…" Gear twirled a finger at his temple as he walked through the peaceful burial ground.

He had given up on the equation, and that brought him some peace, though reluctantly. He had written his theory proving its impossibility while the other kids worked, and planned on handing it in first thing in the morning… or later that morning, he should say. Gear came to the grave that the kids were going to dig up, and sighed. They had left their shovels and graffiti cans there. The last thing he wanted was people knowing how close their peaceful place came to being vandalized.

Gear thought to himself as the approached the grave. Perhaps Virgil was right about Mr. Película, in that there was no answer to the equation, and the old man just wanted his students to explain why. Or maybe the old man thought so highly of his class that he actually believed they could solve it. But really, if Gear couldn't figure it out, what chance did a normal high school kid, smart or not, have? The blond couldn't help but feel that it was egotistical for him to think that, but it really was only true. Maybe if he just never said it aloud…

Gear kneeled at the grave to pick up the cans, and glanced at the headstone. It belonged to one Tan Xie Shu, evidently. He looked down and then back up at the headstone, and gasped in realization. Since when could he read Mandarin? He stared at the characters in rapt attention. He didn't recognize all of them, in fact he didn't know most, but he identified a word here and there, enough so that he could read the dead woman's name. Gear felt himself shake, but not from the cold. He must have picked something up from one of those Kung Fu movies Virgil and he frequented, had just seen the character and heard a sound and matched the two in passing. But it stuck in his head, and now he could read a name when he should be only seeing symbols and scratches. Oh God, how far is his power going to go?

Gear looked away and hastily grabbed a can. Through his panic he was reminded briefly of the final shot of Carrie, where the hand reached through the grave to grab that girl's wrist. But despite that thought being in his mind, he was still surprised when it actually happened.

"Aaagh!" He screamed unhelpfully as his left wrist was grabbed in a cold, rotting grip and pulled hard against the earth. "Static!" He called into his mike, wishing he had turned to volume to his receiver back on. He had wanted to avoid the rant he knew his partner was planning on giving him, but he'd give anything to hear his friend's voice just then, even if it was in anger.

Backpack removed itself from Gear as the dead began to rise from surrounding graves. The earth tumbled aside as it was ripped opened, hands ranging from skeletal to merely rotting pushing through. And the sounds of the groans… suddenly opponents that seemed almost comical with Virgil by his side became very frightening.

Gear felt his other wrist grabbed before he could reach for a zap cap, and he struggled to pull himself back against the hands around his arms. The grip was supernaturally firm, whatever power which gave the creature life also gave it extraordinary strength. The boy gritted his teeth but forced himself not to panic as the creature fully rose from its grave.

_How does it manage to rise like that with both hands busy- Focus, Richie! Alright, so you're in the middle of a graveyard filled with the walking dead, alone, and are currently in the grip of one of the monsters. But you still have Backpack and…_

Before Gear could ready his legs against the ground so that he could blast off, he was thrown headfirst by the creature into the headstone that marked the grave.

The boy never saw stars, or birds circling (damn that shape!) his head, like in cartoons. He didn't even feel the impact. All he knew is that next time he opened his eyes, time had passed. Not long, perhaps no longer than a few breaths. But long enough for the hero to be pinned on his back against the grave, body held down by countless hands. Gear groaned and looked into the gaze of the thing that once was once known the woman Tan Xie Shu.

She was recently dead, though wasn't as "fresh" as the last 'Uber-Zombie.' Her skin was so ashen it was nearly transparent, and that coupled with the thinness of her features led it to appear as though all she had for a head was a skull. Dirty black hair trailed down to her shoulders, which was covered by red silk dress. She had died young, he guessed, perhaps in her thirties. Despite how different she was from the creature that had crushed Richie several nights prior, he was startled with the familiar intensity of that evil gaze. He saw it before, that night in the alley. "Hello again…" Gear muttered as his mind cleared, and he thought he saw a mocking sparkle in the dark eyes. _Would the eyes even still be in their sockets after all this time?_ He then figured that if the rules of logic were being bent enough to allow the dead to rise, he figured it could also allow certain things like the reanimation of eyeballs.

One by one his senses came back online. He felt the hands on his legs, his arms, his sides; hard and unyielding and cold. He tried to move his feet, to blast off and fly away, but the supernatural strength evidently was not just a trait that just belonged to the most powerful zombie. He looked past the sallow, skeletal face of Tan Xie Shu to see Backpack fighting valiantly against the hoard, using weapons that it would never use against living opponents. But even as its blades and mechanical arms cut down a zombie, two more would take its place. They had no fear of injury and death, but neither did Backpack, so the battle was in a stalemate. Try as the machine might, it was being blocked by a sheer mass of zombies from its creator. Gear was surprised, however, of how silent the burial ground was. It was as if the speed of sound had not caught up to the events of the night. Then he became aware of the smell, oh _fuck_, the smell.

Gear choked and opened his mouth wide as he began to retch, but then tried to force his gut to behave. He didn't have to use his mathematical genius to know that Vomiting plus Helmet equaled Bad. He was almost relieved for the distraction from the stench when Tan Xie Shu placed a palm over his visor, and slammed his head back against the stone with a

**CRACK**

Gear struggled against the many hands that held his back against the grave, that pushed his legs against the shifted earth. He sucked in a breath to demand release, to call for Static again, to just plain scream.

**CRACK**

Between the fingers over his visor Gear saw Backpack struggle its was to one of the zombies at his left arm. With passionless efficiency it decapitated its largest foe, temporarily allowing the hero to jerk his arm free. But it was quickly caught again by two more hands as a Backpack fell out of Gear's line of site underneath an undead pile-on.

**CRACK**

And to think, Virgil had teased him because he had chosen to wear the decidedly uncool looking helmet rather than a mask or cowl. Well, Gear was definitely grateful for it now. Not only was it protecting his head, but more importantly it was keeping the disgusting hands of the creature off his face.

**CRACK**

_Oh God._ Thought Gear as he continued to fight fruitlessly. _She's trying to crack my head like a walnut, to get the delicious brain inside. At least they're leaving my stomach alone. It's vulnerable, they could just reach in with their dirty fingers and scoop out my intestines like spaghetti and oh God, why did I see Shawn of the Dead with Virgil, it was supposed to be a comedy!_

**CRACK**

_Perhaps a helmet was a bad idea after all, because this is taking an AWFULLY long time. She's- it's stronger than this. Could it be that it's trying to keep me a-_

**CRACK**

_God, Virgil. I'm so sorry… you're going to think I died to keep from going on a date with you. Ok, I'll admit it, it wasn't something I was looking forward to. But I would go on a thousand dates with you if I could avoid this!_

**CRACK**

_There has to be a way out. If Backpack could just loosen one of my hands again I can grab a(n)xn+a(n-1)x(n-1)+...+a(1)x+a(0)0 with a's all rational, which holds for x equals pi- Damn it! Now is REALLY not the time, Richie!_

**CRACK**

_How fucking fitting. My last moments on earth is not spent saying good bye to my loved ones, not spent reciting every prayer for every religion I know, it's not even spent crapping my pants as I beg for mercy. No, I have to spend it on a damned question which could never be answered because it's impossible to square a circle unless_

**CRACK**

_UNLESS!_

**CRACK**

Gear felt his struggles renew with frantic desperation. The main zombie was growling in apparent frustration at the boy's stern refusal not to succumb to her blows, but the teen in question didn't notice. He had to get to a pad and paper! HE HAD TO GET TO A PAD AND PAPER! "Let go!" He finally shouted, the first time he managed to speak since his last frantic scream of his partner's name. "Please! You can kill me later, I promise, but give me just a five minute break! Time out, TIME OUT!"

Backpack came within his range of sight again, this time aiming for the creature who was directly attacking its master. It aimed for her head and shoulders, and with a loud keen, attached itself to her skull. The zombie fell away from Gear with a high pitched shriek that would have raised the hair on the back of the hero's neck if he wasn't so absorbed in his discovery. Gear pushed back against the spoiled hands that held him down yet again, and finally he found himself with an arm free. It took him several moments to realize that that was because the zombies on that side were slammed away by a glowing, flying doorway.

Gear couldn't greet his rescuer with a witty salutation to show him that he was fine, because frankly he had no idea whether he was fine or not, or what he could say other then a quick 'hey'. No way he was focusing his mind for one moment longer than necessary on anything other than that answer that was there, fuzzy and not completely clear, but obviously there if he just concentrated on it and remembered it.

He grabbed a zap cap from inside one of his pockets, but the zombies were too close for him to actually throw it at them and hope for the trap to open. Luckily Static helped clear away his dog-pile with a few electromagnetic shots. Gear shuddered and quickly scrambled up as quickly as he was able, blasting to the sky. He then felt a tug as he was stopped by a strong grip on his right foot, and looked down at the battered face of Tan Xie Shu. The boy grimaced as he pulled back his free leg. "I mean no disrespect to you, ma'am, but…" he then stamped the boot hard into the zombie's face while blasting against it as the same time, causing the creature to loosen her grip and allow him to shoot free.

Gear hovered above the zombies who dumbly reached up towards the hero, feeling his head start to throb. But he had to ignore the pain, he had to think… he had to write! His desperate scrambling for his notepad was interrupted by two hands firmly gripping his biceps.

"Richie, answer me!" Came the fierce whisper, and then a bit louder, "Are you ok?"

"Huh?" Gear finally looked up to meet his friend's gaze. Static's eyes were filled with some barely contained emotion, and his panting breaths were evidence that he just traveled a great distance extremely quickly, even for him. The electrical superhero must have been calling for him, and he had just not heard through his mental absorption. He felt the hands on his upper arms move down his limbs in what Gear ascertained to be a test for injuries, and the other boy hovered away when the hands made a move to go elsewhere. "Yes, I'm fine! I'm just… a bit busy right now."

"Busy?" Static stared at him incredulously. "Damn right you're busy! Or are you forgetting the party we got waiting for us on the ground?"

Gear glanced down. The zombies that had not either been destroyed by Richie's invention or blasted away by Static's bolts were milling around beneath the boys' feet, groaning in despair. Tan Xie Shu, or the thing that once was her, was staring up in outrage. There were still dozens of them, and even more were still rising from their graves. The blond felt a bolt of panic run through him when he realized that Backpack was not in sight, and finally focused on the blinking corner of his visor that told him that the robot had been knocked offline in the struggle for its architect's freedom. That calmed him somewhat, knowing that no permanent damage had been done.

"Gear?" Static demanded again, and then lowered his tone when he didn't receive an answer. "Look, I saw them bash your head pretty good; I think you have a concussion…" Gear felt the hands again, this time at his shoulders, and he raised his own to block them.

"No… I just… can't think right now." He was losing it, he could feel it. It was still there, but he had to get it into paper right then or it would be gone again. Who knows, maybe Richie would be forced to whack his head a few times to get it back. He knew that if it came to it he'd be willing to, no way he'd give up after coming so close to the question that had taunted him the entire night.

"Now I know you have a concussion." Static reached out again to pull his partner on his disc, and Gear obeyed, mind still someplace else and hands too busy reaching for his writing utensils to push him away. It was only when he got to the disc when he came fully aware of Static's arms around him, and his concerned gaze.

"Static!" He said in exasperation. "Even if I was concussed, it would be my head injured, not my flying equipment." He looked down at the zombies. Normally he'd be coming up with strategies of not only how to end the battle, but how he could use the monsters' appearance to trace their origins and discover their objective. At the moment though he just wanted the battle over with so he could write down what was swimming in his head. Gear mentally spaced out again as he desperately struggled to keep a grasp on the radical concept that was the solution to the equation, while trying to find an alternative to Static and him spending the rest of the night desecrating every body in the cemetery at the same time. He thought back to the first attack and almost immediately the answer came to him.

"Static! We have to destroy Tan Xie Shu!"

"I have no idea who that is." Static said as he stared into Gear's eyes, thankfully in some makeshift medical examination rather than in the way he had been doing so lately. "Um, are you seeing this person right now?"

Gear sighed. "I'm not concussed, I'm not delusional, and I'm not rambling. That..." Richie pointed. "…is Tan Xie Shu. She has the same look in her eyes as other zombie, the faster one from that night. When you slammed that guy in the dumpster, that was when the others collapsed. Of course, I'm such an idiot! Whoever is doing this, they need to take a corpse as a host to control the area, or perhaps the Uber-Zombies are just granted more powers than the rest. Either way, I think we have to 'kill' them to stop the attacks."

Static glanced down at the object of their discussion, who was staring up at them almost as blankly as its companions. "Well, it's worth a shot." The hero reached back and began to build his strength for a nice blast. Gear figured his work was done and anxiously went back to the pad and pen, writing down the start of the equation.

Thinking back, Gear probably should have remembered his advice on how the worst things happened when he let his guard down. Then, he probably would have seen Tan Xie Shu rearing back her head, opening her mouth inhumanly wide, and releasing what appeared to be a dark smog of miasma the in the moments before Static could release his attack.

The fog-like substance smashed into Static's disc, causing it to shake and tumble to the extent that both Static and Gear toppled off it and into the waiting arms of the hoard. The blond screamed in frustration as his calculations were interrupted yet again, but quickly was brought back to reality as he was clutched by eager decomposing fingers once more. He heard Static call out his name over the groans, and Gear struggled to get sight of his friend. However, it was impossible to control his movements, the zombies had broken his fall and in exchange had lifted him into the air, grabbing his legs tightly together and reaching across him to keep him still. The smell was almost enough to make him pass out, as there were even more surrounding him now as there was against the grave.

And as soon as it began it was over. The undead collapsed like broken dolls, and Gear with them with an 'oof'. Once he was on the ground he sprang up, looking around. "Static?"

"Over here!" Gear blasted off and spotted Static only a few meters away, limbs shaking in exhaustion and hovering on his disc over the limp body of Tan Xie Shu. Gear winced as he caught a sight of the way Static disposed of her, and landed. Her head was crushed, or so he assumed. It was hard to tell, it was imperceptible under the gravestone.

Gear asked the first thing that came to mind. "Did you really have to use her own headstone? I mean… the potential for puns…"

His friend looked adequately ashamed as he dropped down beside Gear, collapsing his disc as he looked with him. "It was the first thing I grabbed! I barely managed to get back on the disc, I saw that the zombies had you… I panicked!" He sighed and shook his head, then looked at Richie. "Are you ok?" Once again he reached out for him.

"Ack! Yes, yes, I'm ok…" Gear dodged back. "But hold off, I've had way too much grabbing for the rest of the night. Other than that, I'm fine."

Static was not convinced. "Rich, I saw them bashing your head against the grave. You've been spaced out this whole time, how is that ok?"

"I'm not concussed." Gear repeated, looking around for the pen and paper he lost when he fell off the disk. After not immediately spotting it, he reached into one of his many pockets to take out a handheld computer he created to help him keep track of things. Going to the proper screen, he set to work as he continued to talk. "I'm just a bit distracted, that's all. Yes, my head aches a bit, but my helmet protected me from the worse of the blows, so that's nothing serious. Now, if you can just let me work, I'm going to be just fine."

"Oh, that's great." Static shot his friend a grin, then nodded cheerfully. "I'm so happy to hear that you're ok." He then took a deep breath, let it out, and then took another one as he reared to his full height and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Now, what part of 'wait there for me' _don't you UNDERSTAND_! Huh?"

Gear glanced up and noticed his friend's clenched fists, and then scowled. "Gee, I dunno. Is it in the same dialect as, 'I'm not your sidekick, so bite me?'"

Static frantically looked around for any corpses still walking about or any enemies within striking distance, and, not finding one, was forced to make do with just his palm as he slammed his fist into it. "That's twice you let zombies get the drop on you! Zombies! They're, like, the slowest enemies ever! They're the tortoises of the supernatural world. The only monster that's any easier to get away from is the Mummy, and you know what? The Mummy's just a zombie wrapped in toilet paper! Augh!" Static punched his palm again and then shook both hands in the air before succumbing to some random flails. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Gear stared at Static for a brief moment. "…oh yeah, I'm_ really_ looking forward on going on a date with you now, Virg." He then looked back at his screen and went back to typing, thereby missing the fantastic colors his best friend was turning. _Well, at least he's not singing anymore. _

After a few moments of nonsensical shouting, Static just kicked the dirt a few times before turning back to look at the vacated corpse. Immediately his shoulders slumped as he groaned. "Aw man, I decapitated the corpse of some innocent lady with her own grave. I am so going to Hell."

"I think actually using her body to commit acts of wanton is evil is a little bit worse." Gear continued to rapidly type as he tried to comfort his friend. "I'm sure wherever she is, she's grateful to you… who knows; perhaps she's even finding humor in the irony?"

"Only you actually find irony funny," Static darkly muttered as he looked around as the disaster area. "We're going to have to clean this up, you know. We can't just let people come and see…" He moved his hands vaguely. "…this. We'll be up all night."

"There's a bunch of kids in orange bandanas that left here just before the zombie attack. They'd be more than willing to help, just tell them I sent you." Gear had maneuvered to a marble bench while they were talking, and was now sitting down, still on task.

"I know, I heard over the comm. Good thing I still came over here, if only to chew you out." Static tilted his head as he looked at his friend. "Hey, what are you doing, anyways?"

Gear looked up to grin at him triumphantly. "My homework."


	5. The Richie Foley Theory: Patent Pending

**Author's Note**: There will be more notes at the end of the story, but I didn't want to add them here because it might spoil you. There will be some racial slurs in the dialogue of this chapter (1.5 to be exact). Please don't repeat them.

As always, mucho gracias to my repeat reviewers, and greetings to my new ones, **'Ri**, **dan-yell**, **Chiru**, and **Egal**.

* * *

Mind the Gap

Chapter 5: The Richie Foley Theory (Patent Pending)

"_Listen," Richie began. "I've had a long day. A really, really long day. I've spent most of last night trying to give a graveyard full of corpses a decent reburial. Yeah, I had the help of an electrically charged superhero who likes to use doors as giant shovels, and yes I exploited my position to waylay a group of unfortunate delinquents and make them help, but still, the entire episode was just unpleasant. By the time we finished it was time to get to school, where I was in a such a fog that I almost forgot to hand in the very assignment that almost got me killed because I was wrestling with it instead of the zombies. And things wouldn't have been so bad if Virgil was as unhappy and tired as I was. But no, every other second it was, 'Hey Daisy, looking good, new haircut?' or 'You know what? History is cool' or 'These tater-tots are awesome! They're most awesome things I've ever tasted!' And now, after forty-one hours, I finally get some sleep, and what do I get? You, Dancing Joe Boxer Guy, are neither dancing, nor in your boxers. This is unacceptable behavior!"_

_Richie frowned at the receiver of his rant, the older man from the Joe Boxer ads who was a frequent guest in his dreams, much to the boy's chagrin in daylight. But at the moment this did not trouble him, the embarrassment of his infatuation with the commercial's mascot never actually hit him while he was dreaming. Right then he was more concerned with the fact that the Joe Boxer guy was not, in fact, in his Joe boxers, but was rather wearing a baggy yellow shirt with orange sleeves, hanging loosely over a pair of red khakis. _

"_Aw, come on, buddy!" The Joe Boxer guy grinned, not at all fazed by the glower aimed his way. "I'm sorta bored of that whole thing. Let's play video games instead!" He offered the controller of the PS2 to Richie, making the teen regret that he ever brought the console to the gas station. _

"_You are not my buddy," Richie grinded out. "You are a figment of my imagination. You don't have rights, you don't have feelings. You don't even have clothes! Now, stop this revolting revolt and boogie for my personal amusement!" The boy crossed his arm and sat down on the old couch, on the very same cushion where he had devised his doomed date. He placed his feet on the swivel chair that had rested against the couch since the time Virgil pulled him towards it, and looked at the Joe Boxer guy expectantly. _

_Vexingly, the man appeared unimpressed as he just laughed at him familiarly. "Aw, come on, Rich. Let's play _Resident Evil_, I'll even let you choose your character first." _

"_No!" Richie angrily kicked the swivel chair away, and without Virgil around it toppled over on its side with a clatter. "I am sick of fighting zombies!" He angrily punched the arm of the couch at the last word. "I'm tired; my life is in the pits, and this is the closest thing I'll probably ever have to a sex life! So, take off your clothes and do your little naked dance for Richie! My dream magic compels you!" He then thrust his arms forward and wiggled his fingers, but rather than shooting lightning bolts or forcing the Joe Boxer guy to dance like a marionette on strings, he just looked like he was doing the worst version of Jazz Hands ever. _

"_Dream magic?" The Joe Boxer guy tilted his head and gave Richie an amused look that was offensively reminiscent._

"_Well, it's sure as hell not the power of Christ…" Richie muttered darkly as he sulked at the direction his dream was going. He hoped his sex objects forgetting their places wouldn't be another recurring theme._

"_We don't have to play _Resident Evil_ if you want. We could shoot some hoops, call Daisy and Frieda, go to the mall, just hang out…" He shrugged casually and with a graceful flex of his muscles hefted himself up to Richie's desk._

"_I don't want to 'hang out' with you!" Richie continued to whine. "I don't want you to do anything except entertain me with your body!"_

"_Look, if you want to see someone dance half-naked, why don't you watch that guy?"_

_Richie followed the path of the pointed hand to the open door of his bedroom, which also happened to be in the gas station. A dreadlocked boy was dancing in a tight pair of boxers to a kitschy tune, grinning wildly. He found himself focusing on Virgil's back, of all things, and the way the muscles flexed and rolled as the other boy waved his arms. He tore his eyes away after the third bunny hop. _

"_Just put the game in the console."_

_The Joe Boxer guy cheerfully complied, and after he was done he handed Richie his controller. The blond scrolled down, chose Gear, and Joe Boxer chose Static, and then the game started._

_Richie, because although he was in costume he was not Gear, looked around the abandoned subway. "I can't see a thing," he complained, and immediately a low blue light sizzled up._

"_I'll take care of that," Virgil smiled, for he was Virgil, even if he was dressed as Static, mask and all. Richie stared at the hollowed-out husk of the subway car, barely illuminated by Virgil's powers. The eerie glow gave enough light for him to see in a twenty foot circumference around them, but no more than that. Richie swallowed._

"_Zombies could be all around us, and we wouldn't know."_

_Virgil hefted his AK-47 as he said, "That's what this is for!" Richie frowned. That was wrong, so Virgil's shotgun disappeared and was replaced by a crossbow. There, that made much more sense. Richie then heard the sound of something smashing against glass behind him. _

"_They're here!"_

"_Come on!" Grabbing his hand, Virgil jerked him forward, away from the sounds. Richie found himself feeling very grateful that he was actually moving, rather than in those awful 'running in place' dreams. Then, they were at the place Richie knew they would be because he was the one who summoned it there. The blond stilled as he watched his friend effortlessly run over the dark crack from where the subway car met the underground. Virgil turned back when he saw he was not being followed and gestured. "Hurry up!"_

_Richie swallowed as he watched the breach between the car and safety widen, from an inch to nearly a foot. "I- I don't want to." He winced at the sound of three successive pounds banged behind him. "I think I'll keep hanging around here, actually. I mean, yeah, the company is getting stale, but at least I'm on solid ground."_

"_Richie, take my hand." Virgil held it out, crossbow gone, and found the dreamer's gaze with his warm eyes. "Go ahead, I'll catch you. I'm your best friend."_

_Richie frowned at this gesture and stepped back. "No you aren't, you're a symbol of my own feelings of trepidation regarding the development of my relationship with Virgil." He looked around at the familiar setting and sighed in frustration, gesturing violently. "This entire thing is a giant metaphor for my disconnection from reality, and my belief that if we start dating I'll no longer have the security of Virgil's friendship to keep me anchored from getting lost in my head! Plus there were a few bunny hops thrown in there, but I don't want to think about that."_

_Virgil smiled softly at him, keeping his hand reaching over the meter that separated them. "Wow, you're sharp unconscious, too."_

"_Yeah," Richie muttered. "R.E.E.L. S.M.R.T." Suddenly the sounds of running and angry groans reached his ears, this time coming from Richie's right side rather than from behind. He looked towards it and, not seeing anything, continued. "Anyways, I know my own brain more than I know anything, and that includes my phobias. If I reach out, you're not going to catch me and I am going to fall through the gap and I don't wanna do that tonight."_

_Virgil looked at Richie with begging eyes, which were easy to see because his mask had disappeared as illogically as the crossbow. He then moved as far to the edge as he possibly could without falling, reaching out both hands. "Rich… please. Trust me."_

_The gap was widening with every moment passed, and the shouts and poundings were only getting louder. The sudden crash of a nearby door opening was the final straw and Richie let out a frustrated growl before launching himself towards Virgil's waiting arms._

_The jump went in slow motion, and the blond saw the progress of it in exhaustive detail. He watched as Virgil's arms flexed in anticipation of the catch, and how he grinned in reassurance as his friend flew towards him. He felt their fingers touch, just barely, and for a moment Richie felt like Virgil was going to catch him after all, and his mind for once wasn't just throwing one of its masochistic pranks on itself. But then he saw Virgil's eyes flicker, ever so slightly, to the left, and felt his stomach sink when they lit up, but not at the sight of him._

"_Oooooh…" The voice drawled, as if it was being said from down a dark tunnel. "Ammo…!"_

_At once the hands were gone, and Richie was falling._

"_You son of a biiiiiiiitch…!" Richie wailed as he went headfirst down the gap between the subway and the station, his angry shriek almost drowning out the cruel scream of the zombie._

"_Get the hell off my lawn, you loony spic!"_

'Since when did zombies sound like my dad?' _Richie thought as he fell, and then felt his heart leap in his chest. _'Since when was my dad **dead**?'

And that was the thought that frightened Richie out of sleep.

The boy rubbed his blurry eyes and automatically reached for his glasses, perching them on his nose and drowsily staring at the red numbers on his alarm clock. It was three in the morning, which meant so far Richie had all of three hours of rest. The boy groaned and rolled to his other side to try to fall back asleep, but was brought wide awake again by the sound of angry shouting outside his window. The boy scrambled out of bed and looked past the curtain, fearing that the undead had tracked him to his home and cursing himself for not seriously considering it as a possibility.

Even when it turned out it wasn't zombies, Richie still was not relieved to see his father shoving the elderly Mr. Película against the wall beneath his window. "Dad! What are you doing?"

His father looked up at his son, who felt himself become even more mortified when he saw that his dad was clothed only in a pair of boxers and an open robe. "Go back to bed, Richie! The grownups are talking!"

"The grownups are beating up my math teacher!" Richie yelled back and dashed to his door, despite only wearing plaid boxers and an old t-shirt several sizes too big. Well, at least, including his glasses, he was one article of clothing up on his dad. He took the stairs two at a time in the effort to get downstairs within moments of his shout, and in succeeding he nearly crashed into his mother at the doorway, who then warned her son not to run or he'd trip. Richie couldn't help to feel that she should have been more concerned with her husband manhandling old men in the middle of the night.

"Mr. Película," he began as he stepped out on his front porch and approached the two men, toes curling as the cold from the wood was transferred to the pads of his feet. "I am so sorry…"

"What are you apologizing to him for?" His father growled, both arms still pinning an apparently unconcerned teacher against the wall of their house. "He's the mad man who woke us up in the middle of the night, throwing pebbles at your window and babbling some nonsense about you!"

"Ah!" The old man grinned with the same amount of cheer as if his arrival was welcomed with a pot of coffee rather than a slam against the wall. "The man of the hour has arrived! Mr. Foley, I-"

The elder Mr. Foley blocked the reaching hand with his own. "Don't you touch my son, you perverted bea-!"

"Dad!" Richie squawked in a frantic effort to prevent him from finishing the word, feeling utterly humiliated. He then hissed in a voice barely over a whisper, "You promised me you'd stop!"

"Damn it, Richie!" Foley kept his hold on their visitor as he turned to face his son. "It's three in the goddamned morning, so it doesn't count. That's the rules!"

Richie replied through clenched teeth, having frustration replace his embarrassment. "You can't just make up amendments to rules as you go along, Dad!"

Mr. Foley grinned smugly as he loosened his grip on Richie's teacher. "Actually, son, I can. It's one of the perks of being a father." His expression soon lost its haughtiness, however, after the comment from his wife.

"For goodness' sake, Sean, close your robe! You're my husband, not some lingerie model."

Sean reddened deeply as he muttered under his breath, releasing his temporary prisoner to tie up his housecoat. Mr. Película, dressed in a trench coat that probably did little to alleviate Mr. Foley's concerns about him, barely seemed to notice as he dug around in his pockets and pulled out a familiar wad of paper. That bony wrist was then grabbed by a still angered Mr. Foley, just as his son dashed forward and hugged the very same arm to unsuccessfully try to pull it away. "Alright, you sick stalker-"

"-he's not a stalker, he teaches me calculus!"

Sean Foley released Mr. Película's wrist to attempt to shake his clinging son off his limb, even as he continued his interrogation in a booming voice that Richie was surprised wasn't waking the neighborhood. "What the hell are you doing outside my son's window at this hour! Well?" Finding himself unable to shake the blond teenager from his large arm, Mr. Foley used his free one to gesture threateningly. "And remember, you're on my property so anything I want to do to you is totally legal, so answer carefully!"

"I really don't think it works out that way, Dad…" Richie said, still afraid to release his father.

"Well," Mr. Película began. "My, the drama!" The younger Foley felt a bit irked when he realized that Mr. Película seemed to be enjoying all the action. The old man cleared his throat and continued. "I've been up all night reading your theory, Mr. Foley… er, Mr. Foley, Jr. It was nothing short of ingenious, I can't believe it, a student of mine… you realize, of course, that no one else had solved this?"

"Homework?" Sean Foley rumbled as he lowered his threatening hand, and Richie finally released his other arm. "You were throwing pebbles at my son's window in the middle of the night to talk about his _homework_?"

"Of course," Mr. Película replied, eyes blinking innocently behind his spectacles. "What else would I want to talk to him about?"

"Ok," Richie intercepted. "I was the only one in the class to get it. So? I mean, that's nothing new. You didn't have to come here in the middle of the night and wake up me and my parents. I mean, that sort of thing gets Dad ill-tempered." He neglected to mention that vegetarians, large words, and music written after the 70's made Mr. Foley ill-tempered. He was also beginning to suspect that sunshine, pillows, and air may garner the same reaction.

Mr. Película shook his head, grinning madly. "No, Mr. Foley, Jr., I didn't mean of the class. I meant ever. It is an example of an impossible equation, or at least it was. I am very proud that you took the initiative to solve it; after all, it wasn't assigned." He looked at Sean Foley, as if they were in the middle of a parent-teacher conference and Mr. Foley never slammed him against a wall before accusing him of stalking. "I was merely using it as an illustration of how the presence of a transcendental number would completely derail any attempts to decipher an equation including it, creating a paradox! Imagine my surprised to see five pages worth of notes stapled to the back of Mr. Foley's assigned homework turned in the next day, carefully and logically outlining the solution to the problem." He tiled his head up and sighed wistfully. "It was like… like how I would suppose the audience of _Citizen Kane_ felt when it was screened for the first time. I was witnessing something brave, new, magnificent, and only barely comprehensible."

Sean Foley, who blanked out around the word 'transcendental', blinked several times before turning to his son. "You solved an impossible equation?"

"I didn't mean to…" Richie sighed before taking off his glasses and rubbing the top of his nose.

The proof of Richie's genius is what finally got Mrs. Foley to move from her post at the doorway, and she went to embrace her son, almost causing him to drop his specs. "Oh, my baby. I always known you were special. In a good way, though!"

Mr. Foley did not let the good news get in the way of his practical nature as he grabbed the front of Mr. Película's shabby coat. "Listen here, Mr. Picasso or Pelican or whatever the hell you call yourself! That theory is Richie Foley's, you got that? That brilliant piece of work is from _my_ son's brilliant brain, and if you even _think _of trying to say different, I'll have your ass! I've heard about you people-"

"-Oh, for Christ sake, Dad!" Richie squirmed out of his mother's hold before his father could go farther. "Can't you go ten minutes without sounding like a bigot?"

Mr. Película was released once more as Sean turned to give Richie a look that was halfway between irritated and offended. "I'll have you know, _son_, I was going to say I knew about them plagiarizing academics. You always think the worse of me." He glanced at Mr. Película and gestured towards Richie, as if the teacher's age made him a temporary ally against those wacky, irrational kids.

Richie took a deep breath as he put his glasses back on, trying to calm down. It didn't work. "Maybe if you didn't _act _racist all the time, I wouldn't assume you're about to _be_ racist all the time!"

Sean reared up to yell back, "Maybe if you hung around more _white_ people, I wouldn't have to act so racist!" He then turned back from Richie, dismissing him to discuss copyright issues further with the eccentric teacher.

"That made no sense…" Richie feebly moaned into his hand, and felt his mother pat his back in empathy. The genius could only assume that Maggie Foley uttered the same phrase many times during her relationship with his father. Meanwhile, Mr. Foley was still ranting at the ecstatic Mr. Película.

"…The Richie Foley Theory. Its patent is pending, but it's there! I verbally call it down, right here, right now, as the boy's legal guardian. Trademarked, and if you say anything different you'll be sued so fast you won't know what hit you! Any money made for putting this thing in a textbook, or using it to make a new WMD, or collapsing the universe, _whatever_, goes to him! And to me, but mostly to Richie. The Richie Foley Theory!" He poked the other man in the chest at each word. "Patent! Pending!"

Richie finally spoke with exasperation to his mother, but it was mostly for his father's ears. "You know, I think we wouldn't get in so much trouble if Dad didn't take his legal advice from Homer Simpson."

Sean Foley grinned humorlessly, and with that false smile he turned to his son. "You know, I think you wouldn't get in so much trouble if you learned to _shut your smart mouth!" _His grin disappeared and he gestured with his finger at Richie. "Stop being snarky, Richie. I brought you into this world…" He turned back to Mr. Película, allowing his son to snidely (but silently) mouth the end to the overly used phrase, "…and I can take you out of it." He cleared his throat and glared further at the teacher. "Are we clear about the copyright?"

"Oh, we needn't be," The man began, but then quickly amended his statement as the larger man scowled, "but we are anyways! Ah, it's just that I wouldn't dream of stealing our young Mr. Foley's idea. I don't think I could even if I wanted to, I barely grasped the concept myself. Besides, it's already been sent under his name, anyways, so really it would be impossible for me to steal his theory now…"

"'Been sent?'" Richie felt his stomach grow icy cold, and his anger towards his father was forgotten. "Where? Where did you send my theory to?"

"Oh, everywhere!" Mr. Película joyfully announced. "I made sure that the logic was sound, which of course it is, being from my favorite student, oh, but don't tell anyone, and then off it went! To the Ivy Leagues, Mensa International, a colleague in NASA…"

Mr. Foley bellowed, "You sent my son's homework to that kiddy porn ring?", perhaps feeling uncomfortable not being angry at a minority for too long a time.

"That's NAMBLA…" Richie mumbled around the fingernail he was chewing as he considered the disaster that was about to befall him. Richie Foley; internationally known prodigy, discovered in the same town as the famous teenaged genius/superhero Gear.

He felt a soft hand on his arm, and a small sniff as his mother muttered, "We'll discuss how you know of such things tomorrow morning, young man."

"I can't help it!" Richie half-wailed, suddenly feeling very claustrophobic despite the open night air. "I know everything!"

His teacher was still babbling happily. "Oh, this is just like _Good Will Hunting_, and I am Robin Williams who discovers Matt Damon's genius and gently nurtures it into full fruition." Mr. Foley cocked a brow at the last statement, and neatly sidestepped so he was once again between the stranger and his son. Mr. Película didn't seem to notice, and continued. "I wouldn't want Robin Williams to play me in the movie though." He stared past Mr. Foley's large shoulders to his student. "He just seemed a bit too… much to me. Although I do support the idea of colorblind casting. I've always thought Sir Ben Kingsley had such a nice, quiet dignity about him; what do you think?

"The movie?" Richie asked unthinkingly, even as his mother let out of a soft gasp and his father's nose gave a definable twitch.

"Do you really think there could be movie rights?" Mrs. Foley asked.

"Well, we can't give up hope! After all, this is a momentous occasion. Your son, to be colloquial, squared a circle. That's something the mathematical community had thought could never be accomplished, and my student did it at the tender age of sixteen!" His eyes glittered again, but Richie couldn't tell whether it was because of the chance to go down in arithmetical history, or cinematic. Most likely it was both. Mr. Película soldiered on, despite the lack of enthusiasm from the focal point of the night's excitement. "He could go down in record as another Professor Hawking, or a John Forbes Nash…"

Richie swallowed. "The last one, he was schizophrenic."

"And got portrayed by Russell Crowe in _A Beautiful Mind_!" His teacher beamed, as if that made it all worthwhile.

"But… he went _insane_." Richie repeated, unable to move past that certain point of interest.

"Well, Crowe certainly didn't win that Oscar by being lucid." Richie heard, but he was already turning away towards the door.

"Russell Crowe, eh?" His father mused, and the boy imagined him stroking his chin in thought. "My son, Russell Crowe…"

"Sweetheart?" His mother asked, and he heard three people turn towards the man of the (late) hour. "Are you alright?"

"…Denzel Washington was the one who won the Oscar that year. For _Training Day_." Richie said, back still to his family.

"Oh, well, yes," Mr. Película amended. "Thank you, young Mr. Foley. That decision never sat right with me-"

"I'm going to bed." Richie announced, and then turned to face the finally happy group. He forced himself to smile. "Look, thank you so much for everything you've done for me, but it's late. Can we talk about this more in the morning, Mr. Película? Maybe before school?"

"Of course, Mr. Foley." The man grinned, and raised a teasing finger. "Just if you promise to keep Kingsley in mind."

"Right…" Richie then said his goodnights to his parents, and started climbing the stairs. He overheard a miracle then, when his mother invited Mr. Película in for coffee with nary an objection from Mr. Foley. Normally Richie would want to stay up in order to prevent his father from saying anything else embarrassingly stupid, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. All he wanted to do was to crawl into his bed, bury himself under his covers, and pretend it was a week prior when his life was so much less complicated.

* * *

"So, it wasn't homework at all?" Virgil asked as he lay draped across the foot of Richie's bed, having cheerily invited himself over after school.

"No, it was an example of an unsolvable question. He explained it at the beginning of class, but I was late, remember? Normally I wouldn't have mistaken it for homework, but I was distracted by a certain something." Richie gave Virgil a sharp look, but when the other boy didn't even have the grace to even look slightly guilty, he went on. "He told me something like that happened before, at Berkeley during the 1930's. So not only did I make a mistake, I made an unoriginal one." He sighed and violently erased a scribble in his notebook.

"Hey, I wish I could make unoriginal mistakes like that." Virgil pushed himself up so that he was sitting, long legs hanging over the side of Richie's bed. Richie ignored the remark for a moment while he attempted to sketch a transparent sphere, but when it was finished he looked up again.

"This isn't a good thing, V. Película's sent my work to freaking NASA, and he's already working on getting it published. I know developments in the mathematical world don't interest you, hell, doesn't really make my heart ratta-tat-tat either, but some people, lame or not, are going to give me some exposure. I'm about to be outted as 'Richie Foley, Boy Genius' with his trusty sidekick, 'Virgil Hawkins of the Goofy Dreads'. In the same town as 'Gear, Cooler Boy Genius' and his lovable partner, 'Static of the Goofy Dreads'. Oh, but we don't have to worry, your identity is impossible to figure out. You wear a _mask_!" Richie pushed himself off from the headboard he was resting against, legs spread straight out on the bed. "Do you get it now, how completely BAD this is?"

Virgil petulantly stroked his hair. "The word you're looking for isn't goofy, it's kick-ass. You wish you had hair as springy as this." After a few demonstrative shakes of his head the grin spread back to his face as if it never left. "Besides, if you're so against getting published, why have you spent this past hour trying to rewrite your theory so it's nice and clear for us dumb kids, huh?"

Richie snorted. "Duh. This thing could be my first-class ticket to Harvard. Hell, they might even let me skip my undergrad with it." Already Mr. Película had excused Richie from the class' regular curriculum to concentrate on his 'research'. Evidently anything he could teach Richie would be beneath the boy's 'potential'. "Doesn't mean I won't gripe about the possible consequences, though."

Virgil just grinned his playful smile and shrugged. "Hey, your momma didn't raise no dummies." He allowed Richie to work in silence for a few blissful moments before he cracked. "So, who do you think is going to play me in the movie?"

"I never should have told you he said that," Richie said as he went back to work on his question. He clicked the button on his mechanical pencil and, when it refused to reload, held out a hand to his friend. "Lead me."

Virgil rifled through the school bag that was carelessly resting on the bed and obediently handed his best friend the small box of lead. He continued as Richie reloaded his weapon of choice. "You know, maybe we should give Jimmy Fallon a part. I feel bad for him, he needs the money."

The blond barely looked up from his notebook as he continued his calculations. "If, by some grace of God, my mind remains intact long enough for me to control my own biography, I will hold out for complete veto power on the casting, just to prevent Jimmy Fallon from getting within a mile of my movie."

"I really don't think you have to worry about the strength of your mind, Rich. We could probably use it to siege castles or pump up our muscles or something. If we get to Japan, it's going to take down Godzilla." Richie snorted disbelievingly; Virgil wouldn't be so optimistic if he took a peek inside his skull for thirty seconds.

"Easy for you to say. You've been grinning like an idiot this whole week." He looked up, eyes stern. "Seriously, it's getting weird. The girls have been giving me these looks, and pretty soon they're going to ask me- _me_, because they're girls and asking you what's up with you instead of your best friend is against their nature- what's going on. And you know what? I'll have no idea what to say cause I have no idea what's going on anymore, either." Virgil just continued to stare at Richie with that amused look in his eyes, and the genius felt himself growing angry, which had lately been a very popular emotion. "I'm being attacked by zombies, Dad's adopting Russell Crowe, I'm preparing a radical theory for publication even though I know it will bring our spandex fetish that much closer to discovery, and to top it all off there's this…" He waved his arms vaguely, for not even _his_ mind could find the proper words. "…_thing _with you! And I've been acting like a dick to you since Saturday, and I'm being one to you right now, I know that! But every time I try to stop and play nice you just… look at me with that look you have right now, where you're just so damned happy!"

"What?" Virgil asked in a challenging but, of course, congenial tone. "You'd rather I'd be freaking out, waving my hands in the air and raving like a lunatic like you?"

"Yes!" Richie answered honestly. "Yes, I really would!"

Virgil gave him a sympathetic look, and then considered something for a moment, before sighing. "I'm sorry, Rich. I wish I could do that for you, I really do. But you're right, I'm just too damned happy." He then beamed smugly at the ceiling as he lay across the foot of Richie's bed, legs strewn over to the floor and head pillowed in his arms. "I can't help it, I have a hot date on Friday."

Even from his vulnerable position, years of reflexes honed by making Dakota a safer place allowed Virgil to dodge the well-aimed projectile- a painful looking action figure, since pillows were for wimps- as Richie then pushed himself up to his knees. "Oh no! No, no, no, you're not going there, V. You promised, remember? You swore-"

Virgil peaked out from his crouched position at the foot of Richie's bed, so that only his nose and up were visible. "I swore not to treat you any different before or after our date. And at first I thought that might be pretty hard, but you know?" His unvarying smile became visible as the boy grew more confident when no items were thrown. "I thought about it, and I'm sorta glad we're just best friends. Gives me someone to brag to."

Richie briefly considered his response, which ranged from continuing his bombardment with various objects from his shelf to expressing his feelings more articulately by saying, 'Look, Virg. I am _really_ emotionally fragile right now. So, unless you want me to live with the guilt of bludgeoning my best friend to death with a textbook, I suggest you just shut up and smile pretty, ok?' But he was defeated by a sudden feeling of exhausted apathy before he could even start, and just shrugged his shoulders as he searched for his dropped notebook. "Knock yourself out."

With a single motion Virgil leaped back onto the foot of Richie's oversized bed, causing the mattress to bounce and Richie with it. He crossed his legs and then started gesturing with his hands. "Ok, I got the entire night totally planned. First, I'll take my date to a movie. I mean, that's the easy part."

"Well, it sounds ok if you aren't looking for a gold star for originality." He found his notebook and turned the pages to its proper page, but couldn't help asking, "Which movie?"

Virgil told him.

"...in what alternate universe is a documentary about Enron a good 'hot date' movie?"

"Ah!" Virgil raises his finger. "Cause my hot date is also a smart date. Hence, would like a smart movie."

Richie smirked, enjoying their conversation in spite of himself. "I have a hunch that if you take anyone out to a documentary, the closest thing you'll get to a hot date is the hole in the bottom of your bucket of hot popcorn."

"Ick." Virgil made a face. "Well, I'm not going to be looking at popcorn butter the same way ever again." He glanced at Richie, who was finally smiling at him instead of staring at his work. "So, as my best friend and thus giver of the best advice, which movie would you choose?"

That was Virgil's plan all along. Richie's inner subway cars may have been full at the moment with babbling mathematicians who were taking to writing their formulas on the windows and walls, but there was enough space left in his head for an intuitive part of him to make that observation. No one knew Richie's tastes better than Virgil, and he damn well knew that Richie wouldn't like his first choice. Fine, if his friend was going to force him to get involved in the event planning, at least he'd get a decent movie out of it. "Can't you just watch that one where the bad guys keep Jet Li as a puppy and that pisses him off so kung fu ensues?"

"Done deal!" Virgil grinned as he stretched out. "Sure my date will love it."

"At least it would be better than corporate espionage," Richie added, and then looked back at his notebook to complete his calculations only to find it snatched away. "Hey!"

"So, what are you writing here, anyways?" Virgil teasingly backed up a bit and flipped through it too quickly for him to actually be able to read anything. "Virgil and Richie: BFF?"

"V, you're like a two year old." Richie reached for it but Virgil was too quick. "A two year old on crack! If someone's attention is off you for, like, five seconds-"

"Aw," Virgil cooed. "The calculations of this acute angle paired with two half-circles looks just like a heart." He batted his eyes mockingly, both signing and mouthing, 'I heart you'.

Richie felt himself let out a harsh breath that seemed suspiciously like a soundless laugh. He feigned an angry scowl, since letting Virgil know that he welcomed the distraction wasn't part of their game. "You totally messed up my trains of thoughts. I'm going to have to start from the beginning, now!" He moved to his hands and knees to face Virgil head on.

"I'm sorry," he lied, still smirking maniacally as he held the prize above his head.

"No," Richie corrected him. "You're dead." And then he lunged.

After a few moments of playful wrestling, three things happened at once. First, Richie claimed his notebook and thus victory as well. That was the best thing. Second, he realized that Virgil was enjoying their match much more than he was, and the proof was hard against Richie's stomach. That was somewhere in the middle. Third, Richie's father chose that time to burst into his room without knocking. That was the very, very worst thing.

"Dad!" Richie rolled off Virgil to land on the floor, clutching the notebook to his chest. Wonderful, he was about to be outted over a (mostly) non-existent relationship. How completely unfair; if he was going to get caught in the act he should have at least been able to be in the act first. "He was stealing my notebook!" He desperately blurted out. "And… and I stopped him." He slowly raised his eyes from his father's legs to his face. "He was stealing my notebook," he repeated.

Richie was surprised to see that his father's face wasn't beet red, and that there were no throbbing veins anywhere on his forehead. He seemed like he hadn't seen anything unusual at all, although Richie wished his dad would look at him directly in the eye so he could be certain. His father drew in a breath, and Richie was about to scream at Virgil to save himself when he spoke.

"You should probably let him borrow it, Richie. He might not have any paper at home." Richie never thought he would be happy to hear his father say something moronic. He glanced back and saw that Virgil, who sometime in the past twenty-one seconds had found a nice pillow to place over his lap, was about to respond to the offense. The boy on the floor reached to his friend's ankle and sharply pinched him silent. Did he not know of the crisis that had just barely been averted?

"Right, Dad. So, what's up?" Mr. Foley moved his eyes from a seemingly very interesting corner of the ceiling to his son.

"Kraft Dinner." Richie and Virgil glanced at each other in confusion, and the big man shook his head and said in a clearer voice, "I'm making it for supper. Your mother's out with her girlfriends, and I needed to know if your friend is going eat here."

"Probably not." Richie spoke for Virgil, heart still thudding in his chest.

Mr. Foley nodded as he continued to stand awkwardly at the door. He then glanced over to Virgil. "Uh… I like that Wayne Brady. He's funny." He then glanced at his son as if expecting appreciation, but was just greeted with the sight of Richie bowing his head as his last embarrassment was replaced by another.

"Um, thanks Mr. Foley," Virgil said, for once almost at lost for words. He couldn't help adding, "I'll tell him you said so next time he stops by."

Either he didn't get the quip or he chose to ignore it, because Sean Foley just nodded and muttered a brief good bye before shutting the door.

The boys temporarily forgot the circumstances of Mr. Foley's entrance as Richie groaned, still considering his father's parting remarks. "He's trying," he said to Virgil, refusing to look at him. "He didn't mean to be rude, that's actually him trying to be nice."

"Right," Virgil snorted. "At least he doesn't glare at me any more."

"I told you, he's a recovering racist, but he is recovering." Richie couldn't help but defend his father, even though he knew he was taking up the doomed side of the debate. "He complimented your dad a couple of weeks ago, remember?"

Virgil looked at Richie incredulously. "He called him a credit to his race!"

"Well…" Richie began, and almost left it at that. "He's recovering very slowly. I mean, he's my dad, but he's not the quickest bunny in the forest. He found the plot for _The Little Mermaid _complex." Richie reminisced for a moment. "Still cried, though." Backpack beeped from the closet and the boy eagerly moved towards it and away from the conversation.

Virgil sighed and placed the pillow carefully back against Richie's headboard, and the genius reminded himself to wash it later, but refused to dwell on the matter further. "You don't think… he thinks anything's going on, do you? He looked kinda pale."

Richie scoffed in disbelief as he opened his closet to greet Backpack and learn what caused the alert. "Since there's no smoking crater where my dad used to be, I really doubt it…" His voice trailed off as his eyes rapidly skimmed the robot's data.

Virgil tilted his head. "What's up?"

"Hotstreak's escaped." Richie muttered distractedly before heading to his desk and moving his hand behind it, searching for the button that would open the secret compartment where he hid his costume.

"Aw, man!" Virgil groaned. "I thought they could hold him for a couple of months, this time! Or at least until summer-"

"He wasn't working alone," Richie sighed as the catch was released, and gave Virgil a pointed look.

The meaning of Richie's words took a few moments to sink in, but soon the other boy got it and he groaned, burying his head in his hands. "I hate zombies."

**

* * *

**

**Further Notes:**

1) That incident really happened at Berkeley. Check it out at Snopes,com!  
2) For those curious, a link to the Boxer Guy ads: www,joeboxer,com  
3) I was checking out screencaps of Richie's room for reference at World's Finest, and dude, his bed is, like, totally huge! Like, Orgy-Ready huge!  
4) Sorry for the (now revised) typos in the last chapter. I always reread (and reread and reread) my work, but I find something wrong every time. _Face palms_ I really need a beta reader.  
5) As made clear in the text, the title is obviously in homage to the Grand Poobah of comedy, _The Simpsons_, although the phrase 'Patent Pending' does exist outside the cartoon realm.  
6) As always, I'd love to hear what you have to say. Remember, all reviews are hugs, but constructive crits are kisses!


	6. The Big D

**Author's Notes:** Thanks to all those who have reviewed again, and to my new reviewers, **Numena** and **misswildfire**.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, no profit.

**Warnings:** Some violence, more language. Slash.

Dedicated to Mai Lynn, who with me will vanquish the evils of bad grammar!

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Mind the Gap

Chapter 6: The Big D

The rest of Wednesday was spent investigating the attack on the transport vehicle that once contained the fiery Bang Baby. It happened when Hotstreak was being transported from a makeshift anti-heat cell in Surrey to his old facilities in Dakota Prison, which was much better equipped to humanely deal with the issue of containing Hotstreak's powers. As far as Gear could tell, the transport driver's first mistake was to attempt a route passing a nearby graveyard. Pausing for the fetid and slumping jaywalkers who were blocking the street was the second. After that, a zombie attack was just inevitable.

Luckily, there were no fatalities, although the driver and guards sustained some physical injuries as well as, Gear assumed, severe emotional trauma. After all, zombies were freaking freaky. The only reason he himself didn't spend the night after his own graveyard encounter gibbering into his pillow was because he was used to looking death in the eye. That quickly approaching Friday, on the other hand… when he saw the date on his calendar, he began to visualize it wearing a hockey mask and wielding a chainsaw.

Hotstreak was sedated at the time of the attacks, so it was impossible to tell how surprised the Metahuman was by the interception. The zombies had to have been transported, since the group that made off with Hotstreak was gone within the fifteen minutes it took for backup to arrive. It brought forth the question that bothered Richie from the first attack; how did those slow-moving and conspicuous monsters manage to arrive at the diner without any witnesses to their journey? Static and Gear came to the conclusion that either the Uber-Zombie could drive a bus (oh, how he pitied the one who had to clean that up) or the undead had human help.

The other pressing question was what Hotstreak had to do with this. Static believed that the Bang Baby was in league with whatever was controlling the creatures, but Gear wasn't so sure. Perhaps it was out of a desperate hope that Hotstreak wouldn't learn their secret identities from this unknown danger. He didn't want to think of the consequences of such a thing, but of course he did, extensively, and none of his scenarios ended well. Fortunately, after gathering and analyzing the information brought forth from the third attack, Gear had begun to come up with a motive that did not involve the zombies rescuing an ally. In all three occasions the targets had been Metahumans; twice Virgil and him, and now Hotstreak. All three attacks occurred when they were in some way weakened. He and Virgil were out of costume, and then separated, and Hotstreak was unconscious. But even that was uncertain. Gear had exposed many possibilities, but no definite answers.

After a night spent searching vainly for Hotstreak's whereabouts, Richie was too tired to be prepared for Thursday morning's bombardment. There were no news crews, this was about math, after all; but fifteen minutes didn't go by without a call from some institute, or university, or a scientific magazine. For once, Richie was grateful for his dad's belligerence as the older man took all the calls. Mr. Foley even stopped calling them 'poindexters' the third time his son asked. Richie gave the excuse of wanting to perfect his theory before he discussed it with anyone extensively, but really he needed time to think of the ways he could minimize his connection to Gear. Also, it was hard to find time to give interviews when he was busy investigating zombies, rewriting his theory, scrutinizing Virgil and, oh yeah, going to school, eating three meals a day, flossing and brushing his teeth regularly and trying to find an adequate actor to portray him in the hypothetical movie before the producers decided to cast someone god-awful.

And then it arrived. Friday; or, as it had been called in Richie's head since its conception, D-Day.

Throughout the week, Richie's mood had been deteriorating the closer he came to the dreaded night, even as Virgil's was rising. The blond began to create a new theory; no matter how nauseated, anxious, and fearful he felt regarding D-Day, his friend would be feeling an equal but opposite reaction.

Come Friday's lunch period, Virgil was walking on air.

Needless to say, Richie's disposition was not pleasant.

"Are you going to eat that?" Virgil asked, poking Richie's pizza pretzel. "Cause, I am telling you, I thought those tater-tots were good, but these things are awesome! You think they baked them in the oven instead of the microwave? Huh, Richie? The oven? …the oven?" When he got no response, he looked across the table at Daisy. "Definitely the oven." His hand snaked out to Richie's pretzel. The other boy didn't even look up from his calculations when he slapped the thieving appendage harshly with a lead-stained hand.

"Mine!" Came the sharp growl, and then the hand went back to drawing a circle within a transparent cube.

"Cool," said Virgil, bringing the back of his hand to his lips. "That's cool, you should eat it. It's awesome!" He looked at Daisy, who was staring at him and trying not to laugh. "I'm gonna go get another, ok? Want a coke?" He stood up, rubbing his hand. "I'll get you a coke!" He pushed his chair back loudly as he stood, and then strutted his way to the lineup at the cafeteria. Richie wished that the only thing to break Virgil out of his euphoria didn't involve putting his own life in danger, because he was seriously considering throwing himself in front of a bus.

"So," said Frieda as the girl sneaked up next to him after Virgil left, her clipboard being used to cover their mouths from the departing boy. "Who is she?"

Oh, the day was just getting grander and grander. Richie frowned and kept his eyes on his work. "Um, who?"

"You know," started Daisy in a teasing voice that on any other day Richie would have found endearing, but at the moment was just profoundly irritating. "That girl he's going out with this weekend. When is it, tonight?"

He was briefly saved by an interruption from a barely known acquaintance, a six-foot tall jock from the swim team. "Way to go, Mickey! Math rocks!" Richie just grinned and returned the thumbs up, inwardly cursing the bragging Mr. Película. Even with his parents to run interference for him at home, he still had to face his new-found celebrity at school. He wouldn't have minded so much if it wasn't so half-assed. Too soon the jock was gone, and 'Mickey' was thrown back to the wolves.

"It's gotta be tonight," Frieda said, grabbing a seat on Richie's other side where Virgil should have been. "He's been getting higher and higher all week. Another day and his head will explode." She set the clipboard on the table so she could mimic the blast with her hands.

"So, what's she like?" The quieter girl asked. She looked at Richie eagerly. Richie just swallowed and looked anywhere where the girls were not.

"I… I don't know." He looked as if he was busy at work. "Why don't you ask him?"

"Ask him?" Frieda scoffed as if it was the most ridiculous thing she ever heard. She flipped her hair, and Richie suspected she intentionally got that strand in his eye in retribution. "Please. Enough about this CIA thing. Come on, give!" She grinned and leaned forward.

"Well, whoever she is," Daisy began as she stared at Virgil, who was currently rhythmically fidgeting from one foot to the other as the lunch lady heated up his pizza pretzel in the microwave. "…he's got it _bad_."

"Look," snarled the normally agreeable boy, causing the two girls to stare at him in surprise. "Can we stop talking about Virgil and his new girl? And how pretty she must be and how silly Virgil is acting over her and how adorably sweet the whole thing is? Cause trust me, I've been with him the whole week and it's not sweet, it's nauseating, and frankly, I think half the time he's faking it cause he knows it pisses me off! And if I hear one more thing about his girlfriend or their date or anything…" He angrily grabbed the first thing that came to hand and glared menacingly, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I know you're both girls. I don't care. I believe in the equality of the sexes and your genders will not stop me from hurting you badly with…" Richie finally looked at the object he was threatening his friends with. "…this protractor." He leaned back as he tucked the measuring device into his palm. "Think of the possibilities." He stopped to let his words take effect.

The girls blinked, and then stared at one another in some sort of silent conference that Richie could only assume was part of their feminine abilities. Frieda glanced at Richie, then at Virgil, then Richie again, and then leaned forward to give Daisy a self-satisfied look. Daisy raised a hand to her pink lips and nodded, and in unison the two girls turned to look at Richie. Instead of looks of fear or submission, what Richie saw in their eyes were looks of… pity? Yeesh, he would have made the worst super villain ever.

"Oh, Richie…" Daisy sighed as she placed a consoling hand over his knuckles, and the boy was too surprised to move away. "I'm so sorry. We didn't mean to upset you."

"You know, we're pretty open," Frieda added, and placed a comforting hand on Richie's shoulder. "And if you ever want to talk to us about anything, _anything_, we would be down with that, right?"

"Right. Like, if you wanted to talk about your feelings?" Daisy smiled and squeezed Richie's hand.

Shit. Oh, shit. Richie didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. The girls, they thought he was_ jealous_. Jealous of Virgil and his new girlfriend. Sorry, ladies, but things are way more fucked than that. But this meant that they knew he was gay, which meant… they were going to take him shopping. Oh God, no! "I think…" Richie jerked his hand away. "You got the wrong impression…"

"Sure we did, Richie." Frieda smirked. Both girls smiled knowingly at him and nodded. "Sure we did."

Great. He was part of their Girls' Club now, and they were never going to let him go.

"Hey, girls," came the happy salutation as Virgil took an empty chair and handed Daisy a coke, not at all upset by the fact that Frieda stole his seat. "And boy!" He hastily added when Richie kicked him under the table. "Definitely masculine boy."

Richie quickly looked down, not wanting to see Virgil's expression on that last remark.

"Hey, Ed," someone shouted. Richie didn't look up until the next statement. "Way to kick Película's ass! Like hell it's impossible, eh?" Richie turned to see a boy from his calculus class, holding out a hand for a high-five. Richie mutely gave him one, and turned back to his friends at the other boy walked off.

"Ed? That's not even in the same basic category as my name! I mean, I've been called Ricky, Mickey, Ryan, even Jacob, which at least has two syllables… but Ed?" Richie looked at the three others, as if expecting some sort of explanation.

"Aw, look at it this way, Ryan." Frieda grinned brighter at Richie's look. "At least you're getting some fame. The closest thing I'll probably come to that was when _Frieda_ was up for an Oscar. Everyone started rolling the 'r' in my name and using a soft 'd'. 'Frieda'. I sorta liked it, actually." She rested her head on her palm as she thought back.

Richie's poor mood wasn't lifted. "At least your most famous cinematic namesake wasn't played by Macaulay Culkin." The boy started and looked at Virgil in horror. "Oh God, V. _Macaulay Culkin_!"

"You'll have veto power, man, remember?" Virgil said reassuringly as he leaned forward. "Veto power."

Daisy looked at Frieda, who just shrugged. "Anyways…" The darker girl said, looking at Richie. "How are things coming along on that equation?"

"They're not," Richie sighed as he smacked down the notebook and rubbed his forehead. "I know what I have to do, but I don't know how I can make things any simpler than what I've already written. I mean, it's a pretty radical concept. I can barely grasp it, and Mr. Película spent hours mulling it over to understand what I was saying. I think I'm going to have to invent and define, like, half a dozen new words."

Daisy smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure it won't have to come to that. How about I try to help?" She tilted back her head in thought. Even though she was the only one of his friends in his AP Math course, he didn't think that she could of be much assistance. But Daisy wasn't one to give up on a friend in need. "How about you try to explain to me your theory? Then, I can tell you when you're going too over my head, or when I don't understand. We'll work it out that way."

Richie glanced at Frieda and Virgil, and then shrugged. It was worth a shot. "Ok, basically…" Richie frowned in thought. How could he convey how he completed the equation? He held out his arm and place two fingers on the inner side. "I did this," he said as he moved his fingers around the arm twice, and gestured as if tying a knot. Then he curled his arm into a circular shape, and bashed it against the table, causing his friends to jump. He then used the invisible string and tied it on all the edges, and mimed pulling it taut, finally placing his other arm around it and moved his elbows at 90° angles. He saw Daisy's blank look, and frowned. "I did this," he said again, and repeated the entire gesture.

The table was silent for a moment, allowing Daisy time to respond. "So… when you make those new words, can you call one a Daisy Watkins?"

Richie sighed in defeat and went back to writing out calculations.

The next few minutes were spent in amiable quiet as Virgil ate his second serving of lunch, but as soon as the pizza pretzel was gone so was the silence. "What's that?" Virgil asked, pointing to Frieda's clipboard.

"Oh!" Frieda jerked up when she realized she forgot to announce her new cause. "It's a petition, _Free the Harajuku Girls_."

Daisy looked interested. "About human rights abuse?"

"Those Harajuku girls…" Richie looked up from his notebook. "Aren't they women who dress up in the style originating from parts of Japan? Lolita and cosplaying and stuff like that?"

Virgil gave Richie a blank look. "I have no idea what those last few things are. I thought the Harajuku girls are those Asian chicks that hang around Gwen Stefani."

"Exactly!" Frieda grinned and pointed to Virgil. "She makes them follow her around like their race is some sorta of fashion statement, or a cool new fad. They're people, not purses for crying out loud!"

Daisy blinked in confusion. "So, it's not about human rights abuse?"

Frieda stared at Daisy, shocked that her friend did not feel the same level of outrage. "Uh, yeah, it is! I mean, not on a large scale, but she has these women, and they're American, but she has these contracts where they're not aloud to speak English or anything and they have to just giggle like the stereotypes of vapid, Japanese schoolgirls." She turned to Virgil when her pleas fell in deaf ears. "And people are condoning it, like it's ok! She's got pull, you know, and for her to use it to say it's ok to use other people's ethnicity as an accessory is disgusting." When she realized that even if Virgil would normally agree with her, his present state of glowing happiness would not allow any feelings of indignation, she finally turned to Richie, running out of steam. "And… and… _Rich Girl_ sucked! She totally stole my song, my _people_'s song, and took it from some Jewish village in Russia to a freaking pirate ship! And… and that… sucked." She sighed, about to give up.

In Richie, however, she found an unlikely ally. The boy had felt rage gathering within him when Frieda went through her small tirade, rage that other than a few asides here and there hadn't had an outlet for the past week. Even though he barely gave the pop star the vaguest thought before, Richie felt himself smacking his palms against their table in outrage. "She's an exploiter of cultures!"

Frieda widened her eyes, surprised to have Richie on her side, out of her three companions. Although the two students were friends, it was a relationship born from the fact that their two best friends hung with each other so much. Out of all the members of the foursome, Frieda and Richie were probably the least close. "Exactly! And she assumes the public is too stupid to see through what is obviously an insipid attempt to hide her own lack of talent behind four helpless girls!"

"Evil at its worse!" Richie agreed, eyes shining with a strange fire. "Maybe Angel, Love, Music, and Baby have feelings! Maybe they want to speak English, or not dress like a cheerleader on speed! But does Gwen Stefani care? No! She just mows them down!" Richie motioned the mowing with a punch of a fist.

Frieda looked impressed. "You… know their names?" Even she seemed at awe at Richie's ferocity.

"I know _everything_!" Richie wailed, and dodged Virgil's hand as his friend timidly moved to place it on his wrist. "And who does she think she is, singing about poverty? She's a freaking pop star! That Stefani is nothing more than a… a…"

"A hollaback girl?" Frieda carefully tested, gently backing away.

"Yes, a hollaback girl!" Richie nodded enthusiastically, hard enough to send his glasses half-off his face.

"Um, Rich?" Virgil said as he tried to grab hold of his reddening friend's wrist again. "People are staring…"

"I hate her!" Richie screamed. "I HATE HER SO MUCH!" He slammed both fists on the table and stood up in a fury. Then he became aware of the long hush that was emanating from the normally noisy cafeteria, and the feeling of many, many eyes on his quaking form. He slowly looked around to see his fellow students staring him in a mixture of shock, confusion, and eager anticipation. What was that crazy guy going to do next? He then looked at his table. Daisy was gazing at him with that pitying look that she was giving him before, only it was brought up to full strength. Frieda was sitting on her seat, clipboard clutched to her chest in some makeshift shield from the out-of-control nerd. Finally, he moved his eyes to Virgil, and was struck by the perplexity and guilt he saw in his gaze. When Virgil moved to stand up, Richie quickly started gathering the papers and pencils and measuring tools that littered their table.

"Leave me alone," he muttered, as much to the surrounding students as to his friend. "Just leave me alone with my math." Finally he finished gathering his things, and fled the cafeteria.

The room soon went back to its normal level of deafening calamity, except for at one table.

"I'm starting to worry about him." Daisy murmured.

Virgil sighed, running a hand through his dreadlocks. "Always…"

* * *

Richie frowned as he considered his reflection. Did his nose grow since the last time he saw it? He wiped the steam that obscured the mirror to inspect himself more thoroughly. After he caught himself cupping his nose and pulling his hand back to measure the curve of it, Richie rolled his eyes and roughly grabbed a towel to dry his dripping hair. It was pointless to obsess over things like that; it wasn't as if he and Virgil didn't see each other everyday. Any unsightly facial features were probably burned to the back of Virgil's retinas by now, and if Virgil HAD any, Richie knew they would be burned into his.

Hair slightly dryer, Richie moved the towel downwards to catch the drops still clinging to his body, a body which was pink from the hot shower. After hopping on one foot to dry his toes he was finally finished, so he wrapped the towel around his hips. He stuck his tongue out at that boy in the mirror before he opened the door, and went to his room.

Richie locked the doors and closed his curtains, and started to get ready. He was too embarrassed to see Virgil since his outburst, and took a different route home so that he wouldn't have to face him. Sort of pointless, considering the amount of quality time he'd be spending with his friend in an- Richie glanced at his clock- hour.

The teen felt his stomach flip-flop and groaned, rifling through his clothes. This entire night was doomed. People shouldn't feel sick when they think about their dates, should they? It was definitely a bad sign. After putting on boxers Richie picked up a pair of dark jeans with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

Why was he caring about what he was wearing? Virgil was the one who invited him, and therefore, he was the one who should be in anxiety. Furthermore, the last thing Richie wanted was for this date to be successful; he should show up in a burlap sack.

And yet, instead of making a detour to the grocer's for said bag, Richie instead opened his closet to find one of the few shirts he actually bought. Richie just didn't do clothes, which, in his opinion, would probably have got him kicked out of the gay club if it weren't for the fact that he really, really liked guys. Generally the only thing that kept the teen from wandering around in the same outfits he wore his freshman year was the mysterious bottomless bureau he owned, which strangely was restocked with a new shirt or pair of pants every time his mother made a shopping trip. Not that Richie would ever admit to himself that his mother still dressed him. Oh no, for all he knew, dwarves were behind it. Fashion-conscious dwarves with funny little hats.

So when Richie actually bought something for himself, it was something of an occasion. He wasn't really sure why he did it, he just liked it. It was basically dark blue. And stretchy. And under five dollars, so Richie bought it. Again, Richie didn't do clothes. He never wore it, though. He imagined it would be a bit tight, though comfortable, like Gear's costume. Either way, once he got it he realized it pretty much painted a glowing red target on his sexuality, so he kept it in the back of the closet. The symbolism of it all made Richie wince.

After dressing in the spandex metaphor, Richie put on his glasses, grabbed his wallet, and pocketed a few zap caps. It looked like he was just about ready to go… He succumbed to a sudden urge and grabbed a new package of breath-strips, tearing it open and placing one on his tongue.

Richie shuddered at the intensity of the flavor and tried not to think about the reason he opened that package; the reason being he was going on a date and dates sometimes led to the two participants… doing things. Richie's stomach turned at the thought of kissing Virgil, and he felt his nerves hit again. He used to be attracted to Virgil, but that was because the other boy was a beautiful looking guy and Richie had a pulse. Now that things were moving from the fantastical to the definite… Oh God, he was going to throw up in his friend's mouth. He should be glad his nose was growing. Richie wished it would grow so far that it would be impossible for Virgil to come within a foot of his lips without bashing into it.

The horn honked, bringing Richie out of his thoughts. The boy combed his hair with his fingers as he ran out to the car waiting outside. His father was unwittingly chauffeuring his son to his first date; Richie hoped if Mr. Foley found out, he would appreciate the irony.

Richie opened the passenger door and got in. Mr. Foley gave him a once-over and said hello in his own special way. "Shirt looks sorta faggy."

"Thanks, Dad." Richie greeted back, buckling himself in.

Mr. Foley just shrugged and started the car, pulling out.

The first part of the ride was spent in silence, which was only broken when Mr. Foley turned on the radio. After a few minutes of Neil Diamond, Mr. Foley turned to his son. "So… how's that theory coming along?"

"I'm working on it," answered Richie. "It's a bit complicated, though." He rested his head against the window, finding it hard to make conversation with the man who was driving him to his ruin.

"Your teacher… you know, the Mexican guy? Try not to spend too much time with him, he seems a bit…" He made a face and wiggled a hand. "Fruity."

Richie just shrugged, and then slightly nodded. He couldn't argue with that.

Mr. Foley harrumphed before glancing at Richie again. "And don't beat yourself up on that question of yours. No one's figured out how to… do whatever the hell you did in the last thousand years, so how long you need to take to make it perfect doesn't matter. These guys… they're going to try to screw you, Richie."

Richie widened his eyes and turned to his father, skin suddenly turning a light shade of grey.

"Oh yeah." His dad just nodded. "They're nobodies and nothings, you know. You, now you're someone special, cause you're smart. Must have gotten it from your mother. Well, now they now know how smart you are, and you know what they're going to do?"

The genius tilted his head. "Screw me?"

"Don't use that word, Richie. It ain't classy." Mr. Foley paused at a stop-light. "They're gonna use you! They'll make you do all the work for them, cause they're stupid and lazy, and you're smart. That's what people do, son. They use each other. Like fucking vultures, the whole lot of them. You think that Película guy's any different? He just wants to leech you, too." The man glared out at the surrounding cars, as if they contained the same carrions he was protesting.

"People bad." Richie nodded. "Got it."

Mr. Foley took advantage of the red light to look at his son. "I'm serious, Richie! And they always go after the good ones to bring them down. They'll use you, squeeze the life out of you, and then mash up the pulp when it's done! Like some horrible cookie dough."

The boy made a face at the imagery. His father certainly had a way with words. Richie let out a tentative smile. "At least I'm one of the good ones." His father didn't appear happy at the news, so Richie continued. "Don't worry, Dad. I'm not overworking myself. I just want the theory to be perfect, so that we can show it to Harvard and the other schools. We already got a call from them, right?"

"Yeah…" Mr. Foley relaxed at the mention of the Ivy League school, and started driving when the light turned green. "A Foley going to Harvard." He glanced at his son, who went back to staring out his window. "Your mother's real excited, you know. Been calling all her friends, her sister…" He made a face at the last thought, but continued. "She's very proud of you, Richie. We'reveryproudofyou."

Richie glanced over in surprise, and then his eyes softened. His father was staring at the road, large hands gripping at the steering wheel. "Thanks, Dad." All he got was a grunt in return.

Soft moments between the two Mr. Foleys were few and far between. It figured that the older man would say something to spoil it. "That black boy you hang around… he gets good grades, doesn't he?"

Immediately Richie felt his heart clench up, and his tone hardened. "Yeah. _Virgil_'s in my AP Science class." As always when his father mentioned his friend, Richie was on the defensive.

The older man stared at the road, chewing his lip in thought. "You know, when you first brought that boy home, I was worried." Richie snorted, but Mr. Foley chose to ignore that. "Thought that he would bring you down, get you into trouble. But now I see that you were too smart to let that happen. I think you've been a good influence on him, son. He's been born with a bad deck…"

"Yeah," Richie snidely added. "Being born into a good family and a nice home is a real tragedy. I don't know how he survived…"

"Don't you backtalk me, Richie! You may be a genius and think you're smarter than hell, but I'm still your father!" He took his eyes off the road to point a threatening finger at his unconcerned son. "I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it!" Feeling better after his favorite vague threat, the man continued. "I was just thinking… you could maybe send a picture of you and Virgil, like the one on your shelf, with your applications to schools. You could mention in the essays about him, how you helped him overcome adversity or some crap like that… those liberal academics eat that BS up."

Richie stared at his father, mouth agape. "Virgil… Virgil's smart, Dad! He gets good grades on his own! He got into a special-"

"So you never help him with his homework?" Mr. Foley cocked a brow and shot Richie a look.

"Well, yeah, I mean, of course I sometimes help-"

"There you go!" Mr. Foley pulled up at the theater, cutting off any further protests. "And there he is now, right at the entrance. Come on, Richie, the line's forming up, out you go." His son briefly glared at his father but dutifully unbuckled himself and got out. The older man gave Virgil a grin, who was approaching the vehicle to help his friend. Knowing that Virgil could be exploited seemed to put the man into a good mood.

Richie slammed the door and the car drove off, but not before Mr. Foley let out a cheery, "You're a credit to your race, Virgil!"

Both boys twitched and Virgil let out a grin too wide to be genuine as he waved at the disappearing car. "I'm screwing your son, Mr. Foley!" He let out a yelp when his side was mercilessly jabbed, and he shot Richie a look. "What? It packed more punch than saying, 'respectfully courting'."

The blond just gave his friend a wry glance, shaking his head. "Not even if you had a PS3 gift-wrapped and delivered, right now, by a naked Lara Croft."

Virgil just rubbed his side, grinning. "Thought you weren't into that kind of thing?"

"Lara Croft? Dude, it's the principle of it." Richie stretched and checked out Virgil. He couldn't help but feel offended that he was wearing the same shirt Richie picked out for him to wear on a date with Daisy. And, in combination of his fashion sense and his resentment of the attention Daisy was receiving, Richie didn't pick well. It fit Virgil nicely, that much he could see, but the orange and black coloring really was more of a fit for Halloween.

Virgil just shrugged and smiled. "Besides, would you really want a PS3 delivered to you, when you could have the fun of making one for yourself?"

Richie looked thoughtful as he languidly made his way to the doors of the theater. "Not to mention all the inventions that would grow from that project. Backpack was my first attempt at an ipod."

Virgil moved to keep up. "You're joking, right?"

Richie just smirked. "I'll never tell." He looked up to face the doors of the busy theater, which almost seemed to resemble to him a gaping mouth. He felt his heart start to thump in his chest again, and glanced at the time. Thirty seconds to seven…

Suddenly groans and shuffling steps were heard to their right, and both teens quickly jerked their heads to look. Richie's shoulder slumped in disappointment when they only saw a drunken guy shuffle to a plant in order to fertilize it with the contents of his stomach. Virgil glanced at Richie. "I guess we're really going to do this, then. Come on."

Richie shrugged off the hand from his back. "Just wait one second." He looked at his watch. "Well, wait fifteen seconds." Virgil gave him a strange look, and Richie shrugged. "Might as well do this right," he said in a strangled tone. Finally the fifty-nine turned into a double-zero, and Richie let out a breath and forced out a bright smile. "Ok, I'm yours."

He thought he saw Virgil's confidant mask slip for a moment as his eyes gained a panicky look that even was greater than his own, but within moments the cocky grin was back. "Alright, in we go, then!" He placed his hand back on Richie's shoulders, and they moved through the doors.

"Into the belly of the beast," Richie muttered.

"Looks like that to you too, huh?"

Halfway through the movie, Richie began to relax. Virgil had kept his promise, he didn't try to pay for his things or open any doors for him like that sad display at the restaurant. They bought their food, sat down at the back of the aisle, and found themselves behaving like it was one of the countless times they went to a movie together. Richie practically forgot their circumstances until Virgil put an arm around his shoulders.

He was used to Virgil touching him. He always got brief pats on the back, grabs on the wrists when danger struck, and even got carried a few times when he was injured. But he never was so aware of his friend's touch until just then. Richie looked at the hand, but didn't try to shrug it off. It made Virgil happy and… it felt sorta nice.

"At least you didn't try the 'yawn and stretch' maneuver."

Virgil gave him a sheepish smile. "I'm not all about the stealth." Richie laughed at the understatement, and then was shushed by a woman in front of them.

"Worried about missing the witty dialogue?" Richie muttered, but was silent after a squeeze of his shoulder.

The rest of the movie passed without incident, and sooner than expected the boys were leaving the theater, Virgil gesturing wildly. "That was so awesome! Did you see the part where Jet Li, like, stopped him from putting on the collar, and was all, 'Naw, bitch!' And then he kicked ass? That was cool."

Richie laughed. "I'm just worried my math teacher is going to make me cast Morgan Freeman instead of Ben- Sorry,_ Sir_ Ben Kingsley." He shook his head and followed Virgil to the park behind the theater.

"Um, Freeman as Mr. Peculiar?" Virgil raised an eyebrow as he continued to lead an oblivious Richie deeply into the park. "I… don't see the resemblance, actually. Hmm, I couldn't tell you why…"

"Ah, my dear boy," Richie deepened his voice to take on Mr. Película's pompous tone. "Acting is an art that transcends race. Mr. Freeman… or Sir Ben Kingsley or Sir Ian McKellen or what have you are the only thespians that could truly capture the depth of my soul. Or something." The boy shrugged and wished he brought a jacket. As if reading his mind, Virgil moved his arm back around Richie's shoulders, and the boy leaned in close for the warmth.

They continued to talk as Virgil made his way to an out of sight bench. It was dark then, and the park was mostly deserted. It was too late for children to be out playing, and too early for the more nefarious kind to be roaming. By the time Virgil wiped the leaves off the bench, their conversation had already turned into gentle teasing.

"So, that's a nice shirt." Virgil grabbed the end of a sleeve and stretched it out as far as it would extend, which was quite far, and then let it go to snap Richie's wrist. "It's like a giant elastic band."

Richie sat down beside Virgil, growing used to the close contact. Hey, they had to keep warm somehow. "Well, it's better than looking like a pumpkin. Sorry, V, but you're either five months early or seven months late."

Virgil overdramatically spread his arms in outrage, and then rested one on the back of the bench behind Richie. "I thought you liked this shirt!"

"Just because I picked it out doesn't mean I like it," he smirked.

"…actually, I think that's exactly what it means." Virgil shot Richie a familiar irritated look, which caused his friend to smile wider.

"Fine." He moved his hand to tug on one of Virgil's short sleeves. "I like it." He then turned away and calmly rested against the back of the bench, staring into the surrounding foliage. He felt himself release the tension that had taken hold of him since Saturday. So, basically, going on a date with Virgil was like what they did any other day, only they wore clothes that actually fit, their breaths were minty, and they sat closer together than normal. All of these things he could handle, and if Richie had to endure them until Virgil found a girl, so be it. He mentally allowed the runaway subway filled with romantic strategists and nervous wrecks to slow down, and then stop.

_Everyone off the train, your work here is done. Mind the gap, and have a nice day._

Still, there were many other dilemmas the boy had to work out, things that had been taking a backburner to thoughts of Virgil for far too long. Richie continued to think to the rhythm of Virgil's breath against his cheek.

The subway filled with mathematicians had run out of space on the walls and windows, so they were starting to doodle on each other. Unfortunately, several had been driven quite mad from the strain. One poor man was even running around in a toga, shouting, "I am the Pythagorean theorem!" He then fell face first when he leaped off the backs of two seats, evidently thinking the Pythagorean theorem could fly.

Another car contained experts on the walking dead. Most of the people on board sat towards the front of the train as they examined pictures, graphs, and blueprints of the three previous attacks, pointing out all similarities and differences. Unfortunately, many of them were being distracted by Bruce Campbell as Ash, who was trying to gain their attention with a lecture on how he kicked zombie ass with just the power of his manly chin. Then Jet Li made a cameo, but was considerably unhelpful as he just came there to make out with the Campbell/Ash hybrid. Richie wanted to apologize to his mind for it being trapped with the libido of a teenaged boy, but was distracted by the other trains of thoughts.

A third train was filled with various superheroes, who were working on strengthening the space between Static and Gear and their secret identities. At the moment Batman was gesturing at a whiteboard, and then pointed to a sketch of Static. The Dark Knight pulled out an electric razor and grinned maniacally. The genius was just glad Batman wasn't picking on him for that feathers and candle wax fantasy.

Richie was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice Virgil getting closer until his lips were on his.

Then the trains crashed.

* * *

"What's that?"

Richie let out a whimper when the heat moved away from him. "Nyuh…what?" He blinked stupidly as he tried to push himself back into the warmth, and whined when he was held back.

It was a beeping, and it was coming from his wrist. The young man muttered against his ear, causing Richie to shiver. "Is it from Backpack?"

Backpack? What the hell was he talking about? Richie just fumbled for his wrist, intent on ripping the annoying watch off. "No, it's just… It's 10:30." Richie felt a blush rising to his cheeks. "So that's why it's beeping." How could it be that late already?

There was a silence from his partner, and the arms around his waist clenched. "You timed our _date_?"

"I didn't want to denature the experiment!" Richie protested. Oh, the other teen was mad, which would mean the kissing would stop, and he didn't want that. The blond felt a head rest on his shoulder, and a puff of air was pressed against Richie's neck when the other young man let out a sigh. Richie didn't know if it was out of amusement or exasperation, and he didn't care since it felt nice either way. He desperately tried to stop the sounds, the irritating beeps that were ruining _everything_, and finally flung the infernal machine into the bushes out of frustration. Richie had become very good at tossing things, and the watch disappeared far into the shrubbery, its racket with it. He then trailed his hands up two well-muscled arms to rest around his partner's neck, and moved to push his face into a more accessible position.

The other teen turned his head so that all Richie kissed was his cheek. That was ok, it was a very nice cheek. "What about the experiment?" He asked, and Richie could feel the muscles underneath his lips shifting with the grin.

"It's been extended," he muttered as he finally found his target, pressing close.

Richie was prepared for a zombie attack ruining the date, or had expected he and Virgil to get into a fight. He was even ready for the embarrassing moment when Virgil would kiss him, pull back, and say, 'Wow, weird. Well, see you at school.' He certainly never anticipated the disaster of no disaster occurring.

All thoughts were scattered as Richie felt strong fingers trail up his back, and he enthusiastically mimicked the gesture, slipping one palm under the other teen's t-shirt. He'd think about it later.


	7. Later

**AN: **Wow! The last chapter really brought a review boom; how great! Nothing makes me happier than to see an inbox full of review alerts. Anyways, as I warned you, the updates will not be as frequent since the summer (I've barely had the time to finish this one!), but I'll try to keep it as regular as possible.

Much thanks to the repeat reviewers, and thank you to my new ones, **wildred**, **Reluctant Dragon, prurientmind, JadeDragoness, Bellatrix **(P.S., Richie was wryly referencing the scene in Spider-Man 2, where Doc Oct attacks the diner. I'm sorry it wasn't clear; I thought people would see this as Richie referencing a movie and not me mixing up canons. You are completely right about Romeo and Juliet, though. I thought that Romeo spent more time in Mantua than he did. Thank you.), **Tristripe, CloudKat, Cally9 **and **Maru. **Thanks for all your kinds words and suggestions. (That's four 'thank you's in a paragraph. Wow, and now five.)

Still, one last (and biggest) thanks to Mai Lynn, for the beta. I love you, girl!

**Disclaimer**: I disclaim all rights to these characters, cause they're not mine. You can even have Mr. Película, if you want. He'd love the attention.

**Warnings: **T for language and violence. Slash.

* * *

Mind the Gap

Chapter 7: Later

_Holy shit, what the hell just happened?_

Richie looked up from the passing streetlights below them to the masked face of Static, who was staring at him with a contented glow. The blond opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it and looked away. He had no idea what to say except…

_Holy shit._

Still, he was greatly improved from just earlier, when he couldn't even put that thought in order. When the boys finally realized how late it was, Virgil offered to fly them home. It went to show how out of it Richie was when he didn't object to the idea of himself being seen flying around in Static's arms. All thoughts were dissolved again when said hero moved forward to brush his lips against Richie's temple.

"Are you cold?"

Richie blinked as he considered the words, and then shook his head. Static moved his arms tighter anyways.

"I could give you my coat…"

He knew he was in trouble when he felt his limbs grow fuzzy at the show of such concern, instead of the urge to jab his friend hard in the ribs for offering him his jacket as if Richie was a heroine in a bad teen movie.

Their position wasn't an unusual one. In fact, they were like this just last Monday, over that damned graveyard. Of course, the bloodthirsty zombies were probably a mood-breaker. And back then, he had no idea that Virgil's mouth could do_ that_ and that _that _would feel so good, and Richie felt his breathing starting to pick up its pace again. His survival instincts began to take control, and he fell back to the thing that had done a pretty good job with protecting him when his friend wasn't there.

He had to separate himself from Virgil, now, so that he could think.

Static yelped when he felt cold hands rifle through his jacket. "Geeze, Rich, I'm not complaining, but do you want us to crash?" He stopped himself, probably realizing that he was trying to stop the very boy he'd been fantasizing about from groping him. "Never mind, knock yourself out."

If only he could. Richie wasn't feeling up Static for fun, and two hours ago he wouldn't have even considered such a thing a possibility. He smiled triumphantly when he produced the Shock Vox from one of Static's inner pockets, and placed it against the fragile cup of his ear. "Backpack. Pizza pockets," he said, giving the password to his robot's collected police reports. "Present condition."

"What are you doin-" The other boy started before he was shushed. He shifted his hold on Richie a bit, and tried again. "If there was a Bang Baby sighting, Backpack would have called. Anything that's going on is normal stuff."

Richie didn't answer as he worked out the coded beeps that Backpack rattled off. His visor wasn't on, so he had to use his head to translate it. Normally he didn't even have to spare such activities a thought before it was done, but Static's hands on his back were proving to be distracting. Finally he heard what he was waiting for. Bingo! Huzzah for Dakota's irrepressible criminals. Nothing would ever keep them down; he could make a Broadway musical about them like _Little Orphan Annie_. "There's a break-in at the _RadioShack _on Memorial Road. It's nearby, and the police are right now busy with a pretty bad accident about five miles north."

"You want us to go? Now?" Static looked at the other teen in his arms, surprised. "But it's late! You're not even in costume, and no one's in any danger. The shop's being robbed by regular humans, so it's practically out of our jurisdiction, anyways. It's a big business, the insurance could probably cover the TVs and computers, and," he paused for the moment, and let out a small whine. "I'm tired and cold."

"V!" Richie looked at him in false outrage. "How can you say that? This is a clear affront to the system of capitalism that has made this country what it is. Think about the insurance company's employees' children, who won't be able to eat tomorrow because their parents had to pay thousands of dollars out to make up for stolen property!" They both knew things didn't quite work that way, so Richie fell back to his old ally, logic. "Besides, they could use their black market profit to traffic drugs or weapons." There, they both knew he had won by now. Still, it didn't hurt to be certain. "A wise man once said, 'With great power comes great responsibility.'"

"Great," Static muttered as he stopped and made a u-turn. "I'm about to get my ass capped because you watch _Spider-Man _every month."

"Just put me down and go fight crime!"

"I'm going, I'm going," he sighed, racing towards the break-in. "Just listen up, Rich. We're in a bad part of town in the middle of the night, so I can't leave you alone out here…"

Static paused, and looked at his companion expectantly. His argument won, the boy had gone back to resting against the hero, but when he recognized the silence he did what was expected of him. "Oh yeah, like you're one streetwise mofo," Richie snarked half-heartedly, before falling back into the happy daze that made thinking so difficult.

Static continued. "Fine, I don't want either of us to be separated, happy? I'll drop you off somewhere out of sight but within shouting distance. You don't have any of your gear with you, and even if you did you couldn't use it out of costume, so just sit tight. If these are just normal punks, I think I can take them out on my own."

Normally Richie would argue over being sidelined, but he didn't really have a case. Besides, this is what he wanted, anyways. "My shirt might be spandex, is that close enough?"

Static took on a teasing tone. "Hmmm, might be enough for your torso to fight crime, but what about the rest of you?" He ran a hand down the other teen's arm. "It's still- it's a nice shirt, though."

Richie felt his breathing escalate once again, but didn't answer. Yup, separating from Static to figure things out was a very good idea. Best one ever.

Sooner than expected Static was lowering them in an alley and Richie dropped himself off. The words "be right back" was murmured into his hair, and then Static blasted through the mouth of the alley, making a sharp right. Richie felt a bit stunned, their proximity on the ground making the display of affection seem so much more real. He then managed to make his way to the edge of the alley in time to hear shouts and curses when the hero made his appearance with an, "Oh, the Eighth Street Gang; our third meeting in a month. What contest in Hell did I win to get that prize?"

Richie quickly poked his head out, before moving back within the protective darkness. His partner was out of sight, the action was taking place just over the corner of the block. He knew that Static would most likely be able to handle things, and since Richie was unmasked, hanging around the other hero using Gear's devices would be too conspicuous, anyways. Still… he fiddled with the caps in his pocket, comforted by their weight. He was the one who pressured Static to show up here, if anything happened it would be his fault.

He sighed and leaned against the brick wall, next to a garbage can he could duck behind if a criminal walked by. Well, he could just add that concern to his list of worries, and work through it one by one. Near the top was the alarming thought of someone spotting him with Static. God, why was he so stupid to agree to fly around in the hero's arms like Lois freaking Lane? Like there wasn't already a huge target zeroing in on his secret identity thanks to the homework that wasn't.

Richie knew why he rushed to Virgil without thinking when the boy spread his arms and offered to lift them to the sky. His blood had rushed from his brain to certain other areas of his body. Oh God, how could he expect to fight crime when Virgil was so close? He didn't know how his friend had been handling it for the past few months, but to be fair, Static didn't need to use his mind as much as Gear did.

A crunch of an abandoned beer can behind him and the muttered growl of, "Now, you'll be a good little hostage, faggot, and you won't be hurt too much," was all the warning Richie had.

He didn't have a chance to think, to feel scared, to do anything except react. His hand tightened around the lid of the garbage can as he spun with it to face his attacker. The corner of his eye catching the glint of metal, the teenager adjusted the trajectory of his swing accordingly, and the knife went flying. While the sound of the weapon clattered against the wall, Richie reversed the course of the heavy lid, adding his other hand to it in order to maintain speed. It hit the gang member square in the jaw, toppling the larger man even as his knife fell uselessly to the ground.

Richie looked the fallen man over. He was kinda cute in a greasy, violent sociopath way, but the blond would think about that later. He didn't want to use a zap cap unless he was forced to, and the man appeared unconscious, so Richie just kneeled to confiscate the nasty looking weapon and then leaned against the wall.

He briefly considered giving the gang banger the hint not to announce himself to his hostage before at least _securing_ said hostage, but he wasn't in a benevolent mood. "What tipped you off," he couldn't help asking, "about the gay thing?" He felt himself grow irrationally worried. Had he changed sometime during the night? "Am I lisping? Making strange hip movements? Am I doing some hand thing?" He looked down at his palms, and then at the sleeves that covered them. "Oh, the shirt. Duh." First his dad, now this guy. But at least Virgil liked it, so he knew he would wear it again. Oh shit, he was screwed. Dismissing the danger as nullified, Richie was once again lost in his thoughts.

He was just hard up, was all. He was acting like an idiot because Virgil was the only male to be interested in him, ever. Of course he was wired to respond, it was part of nature. A part of nature that evidently never wants Richie to breed. But he didn't like Virgil, not the way Virgil liked Frieda, and Daisy, and now him. Cause if he did, imagine how much it would hurt when he really did join Virgil's Girls Club, and the eventually loss of interest that entailed? Would it hurt so bad that he'd have to lose Virgil completely?

Sounds of gunshots brought him back to reality. He was out of the alley before he even thought about it, running to where his friend disappeared to. The sounds of the battle were growing closer, but there was nothing to show that Static was injured. Then he saw a body fly across the street and stick to the wall as if glued. Well, at least that showed Static was still fighting.

The hero came into sight, backing away on his disc and floating two firearms in the air. Angry shouts followed him. "Yo, you prick! Give us back our guns!"

"Um, no? You can try and get them, though." He shot them a mocking grin and glanced down the street at his side, blanching when he saw Richie in the middle of it, out from undercover. "Try to get them… over here!" After surreptitiously shooting his friend a pissed look, he darted forwards out of sight, leading the battle away from his partner.

Catching the hint and seeing that his friend was handling things, Richie moved back into the alley and was greeted with the unpleasant image of his attacker unsteadily moving up to his feet. Richie reflexively moved one hand to the pocket containing his caps, but didn't want to be seen using such technology if he could help it. He instead brandished the very same dagger that was used the threaten him. "Stay back, or else!" He winced at his clichéd choice of words. "I really mean it! Just run away if you want, Static will catch you anyways, but stay the hell away from me!"

The gang member just smirked cruelly. Any attempt to appear intimidating, however, was marred with an ugly bruise that was blossoming on the right side of his head. "Soft boy like you, you couldn't do that. Get blood on your hands?" He took an unsteady step forward, and Richie retreated slightly, still holding the knife between them. "You don't have the guts."

The man shot forward a hand to capture a wrist, and Richie unthinkingly dodged and lashed out.

"Fuck!" He bellowed and clutched his wrist to his chest. "You fucking _stabbed _me!"

"Well, you did say I didn't have the guts. At that point I sorta had to." Richie shrugged and moved to pull out a zap cap with his free hand, figuring the man may be adequately distracted.

He paused when he heard the other whimper, "This isn't how it goes in the movies…"

"What are you talking about?" Richie gestured with the knife. "This is exactly what happens in the movies. Bad guy taunts the supposed nerd; the nerd proves himself, and 'scene'."

"No." The gang member grunted and covered his injured arm in his shirt, tears of sweat growing in his brow. "The bad guy goes to the lady with the gun, says that she doesn't have it in her to kill a man, then dramatic music plays as he takes the gun, then we have hostage situation." He paused as he dropped to his knees. "And then the hero rescues her, but what the fuck does Hollywood know?"

Richie snarled in outrage. "I'm not a girl! Besides, that situation only works if it's a life and death scenario. The woman doesn't have it in her to kill a man, not stab him! With just a knife the rule doesn't apply."

"Are you sure its not life and death right now?" The wounded man looked at his arm, and glanced at Richie. "It's bleeding bad… I think you cut something important!"

"What? Impossible. I got you, but in order to slash through the veins you need to cut very deep. Most people who attempt to suicide by slashing their wrists fail for this reason." Richie caught the older man's disturbed look and sighed. "I know everything," he explained.

The man only paled, eyes rolling back in his head. "…mother," he whimpered, falling forward in a slump.

Richie grimaced, and then jerked forward. "Shit!" He looked over at the mouth of the alley, but Static was nowhere to be found. He walked towards the collapsed man, wary despite his concern. When no motion was made when Richie nudged him with a foot, the blond was forced to kneel down to check.

And that's when the other man struck. Richie was not surprised, but still was not expecting the speed of the attack. He wrenched back, cursing loudly in an attempt to gain his friend's attention. The wrist holding the knife was caught while he was pushed down on his back from the weight from his attacker. The other man moved his 'injured' arm to press down on Richie's other hand, and commenced twisting the wrist with the knife.

Richie dropped it.

The thug released the wrist he was holding to grab the weapon, which was when Richie reared back an arm to punch him in the face. The man grunted and released his hold on Richie when the fist connected, and the blond turned on his stomach to crawl away.

He just managed to get to his feet when he felt the cold touch of steel against the side of his neck. "Six years of drama classes…" The young man muttered, moving an arm across Richie's shoulders to press him close against his chest as the knife was lifted somewhat. "Paid off, huh?"

"You took drama?" Richie snorted. "And you call me gay…"

"Shut up!" The knife moved a bit closer to his neck, but didn't dig in. Richie obeyed; he wasn't the one with the blade. "Ok… start walking out to see our hero, and tell him to back off."

"He wouldn't listen to me, man. I'm a nobody; I was just walking around here…"

"He's not gonna let you die, either." He heard a snicker against his ear as the knife was waved wildly. "Not nice to be under the knife, is it?"

Richie felt himself grow irate at the unfairness of that statement. "Hey, you did it first!"

"Shut up," the young man repeated and pushed Richie's back, moving the blade to poke against the back of his neck so that the boy had room to move forwards. Richie started to walk, and felt a weary pressure push against his shoulders as he considered being bailed out of trouble for the third time that week. After some deliberation, he decided that although the chances for injury were great, getting rescued by Virgil again was not acceptable. It was getting above his weekly quota.

As they shuffled towards the entrance, Richie suddenly jerked forward, latching his hands around his chosen weapon. The man let out a surprised "hey", and stood in shock when his knife was knocked aside. He matched his former hostage's gaze, and held his hands out in supplication. "Oh no, no no no, please don't, not agai-"

The merciless trash can lid got its second moment of heroism when it smashed the criminal in the very spot it met before, causing the thug to crumble again. Richie placed a hand on his neck, relaxing when he felt nothing wet or sticky. He glanced over at the thug, and, judging him to be adequately unconscious, he fished through a pocket.

"Fool me once…"

A whoosh and a snick were released in the alleyway when Richie finally decided to use one of his zap traps. He moved forward to pick up the knife that lay abandoned on the ground, noticing that the sounds of battle had quieted.

Soon enough, he heard his friend shout his name as he approached, and watched the unconscious thug slam against a wall only to be held there with Static's power.

"Are you alright?"

He felt himself about to be pulled into the familiar pair of arms, and he let out a cry of warning as he moved the dagger high above them to avoid impaling his friend. "Watch out, I've got a knife!" Static looked up at the evil-looking thing and abruptly let go of Richie, glaring at the presently captured criminal while closing a fist.

"His?"

"Mine now." Richie checked out his souvenir before placing it through a loop on his jeans, and finally acknowledged Static's ashy features. "Hey, it's ok. I face worse than this jerk all the time. I just bashed him on the head until he fell down."

Static was not consoled. "What, you don't have vocal chords? Couldn't try, 'Yo, Static! SOS, maniac with a knife?'" He cast another look at the criminal, then back at his friend.

Richie widened his eyes into large circles and laced his hand together as he hopped excitedly on his feet. "Oooh, do I get to say, 'I'm not your sidekick, so bite me' again? Please? Cause I had so much fun last time…"

"You had to fend him off with garbage, Richie! Against a knife…" He sighed and rubbed his face miserably. "I knew we shouldn't have gotten involved, not with you without your gear like that. I mean, you've been having bad luck with trouble all wee- well, year… year_s_."

Richie chose not to respond to the last statement. "Don't beat yourself up over it, V. It was my decision too, and if I needed your help, I would have called you, ok? And I don't doubt you wouldn't be able to kick butt on my behalf or whatever." He quickly changed the subject. "Did you get everyone? Any injuries? Property damage? Eh, who cares about the last one. But no one hurt?" Static nodded as he floated on his disc. He spread out his arms in invitation, and the blond felt that same disturbing compulsion to join him. This time he held to the side of common sense, and Static cast him a look when he didn't get on. "Um, sorry," Richie began. "I don't think that's a good idea."

The hero swayed on the disc, moving it back and forth in a nervous fidget. "Aw man. What's the prob now, bro?"

Ew, incest.

Richie looked at the unconscious man on the ground. "The problem is I wasn't thinking before. We're lucky this guy didn't see us cuddling. Who knows, maybe he did? I have too much going on right now to also have to deal with even more people trying to use Richie Foley as a hostage against you. And if that doesn't kill us, my father will. If he doesn't have a heart attack; I mean, he has high enough blood pressure! Flying around with you out of costume… I don't know why I didn't figure out what a bad idea that was before."

Static floated still for a moment when his face suddenly lit up. "You were distracted by me. By my ripped-"

The other boy felt heat rise over his face and was grateful for the dark. "I still have the knife, you know!" He glared, daring the other to finish the thought.

Static, being smart, didn't. "Ok, you're right. Being seen with me is too risky. I guess neither of us was really thinking. But how are you going to get home? We're downtown, and it's past midnight."

"I have cash for a bus… and I still have a trap. Plus if I see anyone with the Evil Eye… stabbity-stabbity!" Richie unsheathed and gestured violently with his new weapon, as his friend hovered back, obviously thinking the genius was way too taken with his new toy.

Static didn't look convince. "I can get you a taxi…"

"V!" Richie took a deep breath as he glanced one last time at the still silent form behind him, before walking out of the alley. "I can get home by myself. Just because…" He trailed off. Finishing that statement would mean actively acknowledging what happened earlier that night, and the blond hadn't thought through an adequate plan dealing with that development yet. "…just because you're acting like an idiot doesn't mean I have to walk around at night with a rape whistle!"

Static look properly chastised, floating alongside his friend. "Right, right… Fine. You win, the bus stop for the 43 is just down at the end of this street, then to the left."

"Hence me walking towards it and away from the crime scene before anyone sees us together and recognizes me." He gave his friend a harsh look. "Go home. I'll be fine."

He wanted to stay, Richie could tell. But the blond had made it clear that his company presented a threat, and that was enough for Static. "Fine…" He glanced at Richie, uncharacteristically shy. "I had a great time tonight. Well, I mean, before the gunshots and stabbings and stuff."

"It was fun," Richie muttered in a carefully neutral tone. "Now, up, up, and _away_!" He pointed upwards with his knife. Static rolled his eyes and gave his friend a sharp salute, before racing upwards. Only then did Richie start to relax, and he began walking again.

Avoiding detection was a practical reason for their separation, but it wasn't the main purpose for Richie's demand. He had no idea where this sudden attraction to Virgil came from, what it meant, and what consequences would arise from it. He needed to figure those things out, and he didn't want to be with his friend until he did. As he shivered with pleasure while he remembered the feeling of being with Virgil earlier that night, he suspected it would be harder said than done.

Richie continued to play with his newly-acquired toy, pretending to ignore the disc shaped object high in the sky that was following him home.

* * *

When Virgil said hello to Richie the next day at the gas station by wrapping his arms around him from behind and kissing him soundly on the neck, Richie realized that keeping himself detached would be even harder than he thought.

Virgil felt his captive tense, so he gently nuzzled his cheek. "Is something wrong?"

"Well…" Richie muttered, inching his head away. "You're acting like my dad." He felt the arms abruptly fall away as if he was set on fire, and by the time he looked around Virgil was on the other end of the room, eyes darting back and forth wildly. The blond laughed at him, and looked back at Backpack, which was currently turned over on its back like a stuck turtle. "I mean, the way you hugged me like that. It's something Dad does when he has too much to drink, it makes him start singing Manilow and wrapping himself around Mom from behind while she's trying to do the dishes." He unscrewed a latch in Backpack as he mused half to himself, "I never liked that gesture, it seemed almost condescending to me."

"…I am not like your dad!"

Richie chuckled again at Virgil's indignation. The black youth worked up the nerve to try again, this time carefully moving to his friend's side and playfully walking two fingers up his arm. Richie again twitched away. "What do you think you're doing?"

Virgil smirked. "If you have to ask that, I'm really not doing too good a job." He started to move forward again, but his friend placed a halting hand against his chest.

"Everyone has a bubble, V. A personal space bubble." Richie spread his arms and moved in a circle. "Stay out of my bubble, will ya? Geeze."

This only served to confuse the other youth and make him move closer, but instead of attempting another kiss, he forced himself between the genius and his work. He was not respecting the bubble. "I thought you said last night was fun?"

Richie nervously twirled a screwdriver with his fingers. "I did, I did. It was… nice. Very, very, very nice." He glanced at Virgil's puzzled gaze, and sighed. "It's just, last night, in bed, I was thinking..."

"Fuck." Richie widened his eyes at his friend's exclamation, so Virgil moved back to calm down. After several seconds he spoke in a tone that was straining in the effort to remain congenial. "You know, you seemed to like things a lot last night."

Richie forced himself to shrug. "Well, I didn't dislike it, no."

Virgil jerked his head forward in disbelief, then rifled through his pockets with one hand as he grabbed his friend's wrist with the other. He pulled Richie's hand forward so he could force an object into his palm. "Here, you dropped this when you were not disliking our kiss!"

Richie didn't have to look to know it was his watch in his hand, and he felt heat rise to his face. He didn't remember Virgil picking it up, perhaps using his powers to bring it out of the bushes like a magnet. He was distracted by other things, a fact that the other teen knew. Conceding to the point, Richie amended his statement. "It was good, ok? Earth-shattering. Happy?"

"No," Virgil frowned, speaking in a hurt tone. "If it was so good, then why do you want us to stop?"

"I never said that." He smiled when he saw flashes of surprise and relief over the face of his friend. "I do want to go on another date sometime. Soon." He pushed Virgil back when the other boy took that as a show of permission for less platonic activities. "But we're not on a date right now." He caught the bewildered look. "Remember? Before, you promised not to treat me any different before or after our date."

Virgil scoffed. "Yeah, but you're not actually going to hold me to that!" He looked at his friend, waited a moment, then groaned. "You totally are, aren't you?"

"I think we should keep our friendship and our… whatever as separated as possible." He moved past Virgil back to Backpack, examining a few wires. "That way, if things blow up, we'll still have our friendship to fall back on. Right now we are not on a date, so chill."

Virgil thought quickly. "…can we go on a date now?"

"No." Richie said in a firm voice that belied the enticement the suggestion gave. "I'm busy uploading a tracking program on Backpack that, with some work, may help us find Hotstreak even without a tracker. Besides, I think we need to mandate at least a twenty-four hour break period between our dates, otherwise we could inadvertently progress into a full-blown relationship."

"Oh yeah, wouldn't that be awful?" Virgil muttered, shaking his head in frustration. "I can't believe you think that because we're dating we won't be friends anymore!"

Richie unscrewed a plate, grabbed a small grey device and worked to attach it to the exposed wires. "We're not dating. We're just going on dates. Big difference."

Virgil paused, thought for a moment, and then shook his head. "Actually, there's no difference at all, but don't try to distract me! How shallow do you think I am? You think that after a few dates I'm going to change my mind?"

That was exactly what Richie thought, but he couldn't say that so callously without hurting his friend and perhaps damaging their friendship more than the eventual break-up would. "I don't know, ok? I've never thought about this before, I haven't been in a relationship before, and you've never been with a guy before. So many things could happen. V, I… I don't know what's going on, but I did like last night way more than I expected and I am willing to do it again… I don't think I have a choice in the matter anymore, actually. But I need a fail-safe, Virgil. I need a part of us, our friendship to remain static and untouched if we try things out. I need something to fall back on, don't you? Dating is scary enough as is, I'm not going to do it if I can't still just hang out with my best friend."

Virgil stared at Richie, taking his speech in. "You know, you're making this thing way more complicated than it needs to be."

"Well, I'm a very complicated person."

Virgil snorted at the understatement of the century, and began to pace. "Fine fine. You win, we'll play by your random and dumbass rules, ok?" He bounced excitedly on his heels. "When's the next date?"

"You just wanna make out."

"You blame me?"

"This is so surreal," Richie muttered, and then shrugged. "Tomorrow?"

"Yes!" Virgil stated immediately, before smacking his forehead with a palm. "Wait, Frieda's throwing a huge bash tomorrow, since her parents are out of town. I promised her I'd go."

"Fine, we'll go together." Richie finished closing up Backpack and turned him online. "There, Backpack, and since you were such a good boy, you get a lollipop."

The dark youth looked around eagerly for the candy, but was struck by Richie's first statement. "You want us to go together? To a public party, with all our friends? Not that I'm complaining, but I figured you wouldn't want to be out by only our third date-"

"Second," Richie corrected. "Last Saturday wasn't a date, it was a sad joke. And I was being sarcastic, there are no lollipops. I think I have a have some tic-tacs in my bag, though."

"Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad. There were candles, and flowers, and, um, sugar that didn't come from packets…"

"Zombies, flying glass, dumpster diving, not to mention only one of us knew we were on a date at the time." He reached for his latest acquisition and showed it to his favorite invention. "Ready for a new blade, Backpack?" The robot responded by releasing one of its arms, which only was attached to a pair of hand-like pliers. It opened and closed its appendages beseechingly. "Good boy!"

Virgil couldn't help but to shudder. "Well, it was still a date. It wasn't a good one, I'll admit that, but it's still valid and… I think we're getting sidetracked, didn't you say something about me taking you to Frieda's party? You're actually cool with that?"

"Sure, just as long as no one knows we're on a date." He carefully placed the knife into the pliers, and when it seemed too bulky he sighed and moved to the closet.

The teen folded his arms and looked at Richie crossly. "And how are we supposed to do that?"

"We won't be overly affectionate; no opening doors or pet names. Or, you know, touching each other." He reached into the opening and lifted a small welding machine he created to make his work more efficient. He carried it back to the desk so he could shape the handle of the knife into a proper size.

"Know what's funny, Rich? This date is sounding like us just hanging out more and more." Virgil wasn't laughing.

Richie turned on the machine, and a loud buzz filled the gas station. "Can't hear you, Virg. I'm welding!"

A small shock danced through the machine and lightly tickled Richie's fingers. The affect on the welder was more dramatic, however, as the contraption shorted out with the sound of a motor powering down. The blond turned to his friend in shocked indignation, while Virgil boldly responded with a shrug and a smug, "Yeah, I did it."

Richie took a deep breath, and let it out again. "Look, I don't need to be outted right now. I have things to do, monsters to avoid, and a father to keep in blissful ignorance forever and ever, so help me God."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and Mr. Foley totally keeps tabs on the Dakota party scene." He raised his voice into a girlish trill. "He's best friends forever with Madison Whitman cause, like, she's teaching him the best cheers from her team and she thinks middle-aged rednecks are, like, totally cool."

The blond grew red, though on his face and not his collar. He bashed his father all the time, which was still less than the older man deserved, but no one else had that right to do so without risking getting socked in the face. It was about family honor. "Why the hell do you care so much whether or not we spend Frieda's party making out on her couch anyways, you horny bastard!"

Instead of realizing the errors of his ways and groveling, as Richie felt he should have, Virgil stood up straight, meeting Richie's glare with a whopper of his own. "Maybe because I know you're going to make us wait something like a week before we can go out again, and make me sign release forms in triplicate before we even do that, you paranoid maniac!"

"Then we'll just leave the party early and go somewhere private, or was that thought too logical to make it through your buffers?" Backpack turned to Virgil and Richie as the boys fought, perhaps confused with such a turn of events. Sensing the tension in the air, it latched itself to Richie's back uninvited, feeling its protection may be soon needed.

Virgil barely noticed. "Fine!" He raged. "We'll go somewhere private, make out, and it will be awesome!"

"Oh, you think so!"

"Yeah!"

"Fine! I'm damn well looking forward to the magical evening!" He concluded in an intentionally sarcastic tone, even if deep down Richie wasn't. He grabbed the knife and looking around in confusion for Backpack. He then reached over his shoulders and unceremoniously plucked the robot from around them, slamming it back on the desk with unusual force.

Virgil growled and shook his head, turning away from Richie in exasperation. Perhaps he was just as mad at himself, having let his impatience lash out at the very person he was trying to goad to his side. Richie also felt chagrin in regards to himself; instead of cultivating the friendly and supportive atmosphere he needed so desperately, he got them to a place that was anything but. However, both boys were too proud, and angry at each other's stubbornness, to do anything about it.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in bitter silence, both engrossed by the thought of the disaster that would be Frieda's party. But whatever thoughts they may have entertained, the reality of it would be much, much worse.

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Thank you for reading this chapter, and I would really like to hear what you think. 


	8. Johnny the Homicidal Melodramaniac

Yes! I have finally finished the chapter! Sorry it's been taking so long, but school and friends must come first. Thank you for being so patient. On the plus side, this chapter is by far the longest, and we finally get some answers to what the heck is going on. Enjoy!

An extra bounty of gratitude to all my frequent reviewers, and thanks for my new ones: **Yvonne**,** Jimaine**, **Soon to be world renown Gracie**,** Ru Shin**, **Generally Maz**, and **Jane.**

**Disclaimer:** These characters do not belong to me. I make no profit from this.

**Warnings:** T for Language, Underage Drinking, Minor Violence. Slash.

* * *

Mind the Gap

Chapter 8: Johnny the Homicidal Melodramaniac

For two boys as close as Virgil and Richie, the times when they fought were Hell. No one knew the other better, so no one was as adept at pissing the other off. But as bad as they felt during their occasional arguments, the unlucky criminals felt worse.

The only possibly positive aspect to the two teens' disagreements was that they were never more attentive or thorough in regards to their double lives' duties. During these times Static and Gear's capture rate doubled, as well as the amount of injuries certain criminals would receive upon detainment. A voice from one of Richie's subway cards, sounding suspiciously like Daisy, worried him that exploiting his position as a superhero to satisfy the need to physically express his anger had unnerving shades of the dark side of vigilantism. But at the time Gear was too busy punching Shiv in the face to listen.

What was a bit unfair for the criminals was that if they tried to physically retaliate, things just were made worse for them. For instance, when Shiv got up from the blow and readied a blade, slashing it across Gear's uniform, Static went nuts. The blue-haired Bang Baby was never hit with an electrical current that strong before, and hopefully would not again. The criminal screamed as he was rooted to the spot when hit with the purple wave, and then slumped over, unconscious. He would be out of commission for the rest of the battle, that was for sure. Surprisingly, Gear didn't appear to appreciate the act of his avenger. He just clapped an arm over the slim skin of stomach that was revealed, but unharmed, from Shiv's attack, and shot Static a dirty look. He growled, and then launched himself at the closest villain, even more ruthless than before.

Even after a night and most a day spent taking out their frustrations on the criminal element, the boys' blood lust was not yet satisfied. They had to cut their activities short to make Frieda's party, and they were still at least an hour late.

They had separated to change and meet up at the front door, as to not draw attention. After handing his costume to Backpack in order for the machine to hide with it, Richie approached the large and busy home, noticing Virgil already waiting on the outside sidewalk. "Hello," he lied.

Richie didn't wait for an answer as he started up the walkway. Virgil burst ahead of them and defiantly held the door open for his date like a perfect gentlemen.

Richie narrowed his eyes, meeting the challenging look of his friend's expression. Oh, it was _on._

"Virgil!" Frieda burst from the door to give her friend an enthusiastic hug. "Oh my God, I am so glad you came. Daisy couldn't show, and I didn't want to be all alone!" She detached herself from Richie's best friend, still chattering a mile a minute. "Someone brought a keg, can you believe it?" She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, I don't need my house to be the set for a 'Very Special Episode', so don't drink and drive. Or drink. Whatever." She looked over. "Hey, Richie," she said in a sickeningly sympathetic voice, obviously still thinking that Richie was drowning in unrequited love.

"Hey."

When Frieda saw that Richie wasn't about to burst into tears, her eyes panned past him and she regained her smile as she shoved past her friends to greet a newcomer. "Linda! Oh my God, I am so glad you came! Daisy couldn't show, and I didn't…"

Virgil and Richie stepped into the house, which was already loud with music, chatter, and laughter. "Lotta people," the blond muttered, feeling uncomfortable. One would think that a superhero that faced Bang Babies and other nefarious forces nightly wouldn't still get nervous over parties, but Richie was a very special person.

The other boy just shrugged at the comment, barely civilly spitting out, "Frieda has a lotta friends."

Richie nodded, standing awkwardly in the uncomfortable silence. On the outside, anyways. The thoughts in his brain were still jabbering non-stop, as they had been ever since D-Day. Especially the ones concerning Virgil, they had been very put-out for being lulled into a false sense of security, and were redoubling their efforts by spazzing the hell out.

Virgil shrugged, and walked deeper into the house, Richie following. Evidently from the rambunctious behavior and frequent shrieks of laughter, the keg had already been significantly depleted. The darker boy got a few waves and grins shot his way, which he responded to with a forced smile and gesture. He wasn't up to Frieda's level of popularity, that took considerable effort and charm, and Virgil only was willing to give the latter, but his looks and easy-going attitude had garnered him more than enough attention. However, despite the crackle of tension between the two friends, Virgil did not seem eager to leave his 'date' alone so he could catch up with his classmates.

After several minutes of watching his friend loyally (or stubbornly) stick by his shyer partner, Richie gave him a rough shove on the shoulder. "What are you waiting for? Go on, socialize. Well, not literally, the term actually means you learning to adopt the behaviors of your community. But go on. Strengthen alliances, reconnect relationships. Revel and make merry."

Virgil gave Richie one of his patented 'looks'. "It's a party, Rich. Not a case study."

A girl ran past them, pulling up her top to reveal a blue lacy bra. "Look what I have!" She giggled loudly, amid cheers and applause from an amused crowd.

Unsurprisingly, Richie was the first one to recover from the sight. "This isn't just a party, it's Oktoberfest."

The cheers and claps were dying down, and Richie turned to one of the last applauders, who happened to be Virgil. He looked properly ashamed and awkwardly lowered his hands, clearing his throat. "Well, anyways…" He met Richie's eyes determinedly. "It's not just Oktoberfest, either. It's our date." He got even more irate when Richie cast several frantic glances around the room to make sure they were not heard. "So stop trying to shove me off!"

Richie crossed his arms indignantly. He wasn't trying to shove Virgil off. He just knew that the other boy was much more of a people-person than he was, and he shouldn't have to be forced to spend the party in strained tension next to his friend and, frankly, Richie didn't deserve that either. Ok, maybe he had been trying to shove Virgil off for a bit, but he wouldn't have had to if the boy hadn't pissed him off. How did he piss him off again? Oh yeah, he held out that door for him. Bastard.

He hissed back, "Oh, and what a fantastic date it's been so far."

"Maybe if you played nice for a bit, it wouldn't suck so much." Virgil muttered back, plastering a smile on his face and waving a greeting to a boy from school.

"What, so now I have to be nice to you all the time? Is that what dating is?"

"That's not what I- forget it." Virgil rolled his eyes, but kept his voice low and his smile on for the sake of appearances. "Could you at least tell me how I made the declaration of war this time?"

Richie hissed a breath incredulously as he slipped past his friend, away from the more energetic parts of the party. "Stop acting like a moron. You know why, so why should I even tell you?"

A pair of eyes stared after him for a beat, and then Virgil caught up, mumbling under his breath, "Now I _know_ we're dating…"

Well, if Virgil didn't want Richie to play head games with him like a girl, he probably shouldn't have treated him like one.

"Oh my God," came the high-pitched exclamation as Frieda caught up to the two boys. "Did you see that? My party has just become a stage for which other girls humiliate themselves just for some masculine attention, due to their own lack of self-esteem."

"Don't forget the alcohol," Richie helpfully suggested. "The alcohol is also helping them to take off their tops."

"Ick," Frieda exclaimed, the last part of her word crackling as if she was clearing her throat. "The only way I touch that stuff is when it's pink or yellow, and placed under a pretty umbrella." She looked at the other boy. "Virgil? Next time you see something like that happening can you, like, stop it? Every time a girl flashes someone, the feminist movement goes back, like, six weeks. Right now we're in February."

A frown passed down Richie's face. "That math doesn't work out right."

"Oh, one was only half a nip." Frieda glanced back to Virgil, clasping her hands. "Please?"

He ran a hand through his hair, looking like he was trying to find a way to politely turn down the job of party bouncer. Richie decided to make things easier for him. "Don't ask Virgil. Judging by our last instance of nipple-gate, we'd be sending out a man unarmed against a monstrous opponent that renders him paralyzed and very, very dumb; staring into the glowing orbs that suck all wits and thoughts from him."

"The hell?" The boy in question turned to his accuser even as Frieda cast an irate look at her friend. "Hey, I thought it was just as lame as everyone here."

"His clapping was a cry for help," Richie whispered to Frieda with false sympathy.

"Virgil? Ew," she eloquently responded.

"Fine, ok? I looked, I saw, I clapped. I'm a guy, we're jerks like that." He turned back to Richie. "Because I have red blood in my veins, unlike you. Evidently you can get by with just feeding on logic, comic books, and my despair!"

Frieda watched the two boys glower into each others eyes, and pretended to shiver. "Wow, it's really getting cold over here, I think I'm going to go find somewhere warmer, like my freezer." She turned with a parting wave. "You guys just relax, ok? It's a party, no big deal, the whole point is to have fun and- Hey!" She straightened, eyes widening at something behind them. "That's our punch bowl, not a hat! Not a hat!" And off she went.

Richie rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. As if everything else in his life wasn't screwed up enough, he now had this fight with Virgil to worry about. However, at the moment he wasn't worried about reconciling, but rather making sure he got the last word. That was very important to him.

Virgil sighed and leaned against the wall. "Back to hateful silence it is, then."

"Good. Your awkwardness only wets my appetite as I feast on your misery. Nummy, it's better than orphaned babies."

"You know, I think I'm going to grab us a couple of beers. You would be so much easier to take drunk." Virgil threw up his hands in the air in defeat.

"Don't forget to bring back some cyanide to wash down with it." Richie muttered.

"Yeah, you would be easier to take as a corpse, too," came the angry reply as Virgil started to disappear in the drunken crowd.

"Who said I would be the one to take it?" He shot back.

Ooh, the finger. Nice, their fight was at a whole new threshold. Richie turned away from Virgil's strategically retreating form and wandered through the party.

The problem with fighting with Virgil, amongst many, is that it could go on forever. They were best friends and thus were pretty much stuck together, regardless of how mad they got. Other friends, Richie figured, had a certain point in their fights where they could slip out of a friendship and into apathy, or even animosity. They could sometimes sense when they reached that point and either choose to apologize for one another or risk irreparably damaging their friendship. Richie and Virgil didn't have that option. They could be old men in rocking chairs and Virgil (cause Richie sure as hell wasn't going to) could ring him up, apologize, and they'd go back sharing cream corn or talking about their catheters or whatever it was old people did.

One could have pointed out to Richie that if their friendship was so tight that he didn't believe a fight could break it, then moving it into a relationship probably couldn't damage it either. But he wouldn't have liked that.

A cup was shoved in his general direction, and Richie's reflexes were too honed not to take it. An excited redhead glanced at the person she had just served. "Oh wow, you're like, that science guy, right? Who's inventing the atomic bomb?"

Richie watched as she swayed, and moved so that he wouldn't be crushed by the falling six foot soccer player. "Um, well, actually that's already been invented-"

Evidently that line of discussion was boring. "Spring break, woooo!" (1) And suddenly it was January.

"It's not spring break, but ok." Applauds erupted around them as Richie slinked away, cup brought to his lips to hide the fact that he was blushing head-to-toe. Not that any eyes were on him, anyways. Richie almost spat the drink out when he came to his senses enough to taste it.

That was definitely _not_ beer. He knew what beer tasted like; lately when his dad got drunk enough he would offer Richie a sip from his bottle. When Richie's mom gave him her infamous glare that struck fear into the hearts of men, Mr. Foley would claim, "It's better he develops a gut here, than wander around some party with a lampshade on his head!" Still, the idea of getting drunk with his dad was just too weird, so he never had more than a couple swallows. But those swallows were enough for him to ascertain that this drink was not of the usual variety.

He spotted a bush of dark dreads wading through the mass of bodies on the other side of the crowded room, and swallowed the liquid. Still, it was nice; if really strong. Or it was nice _because_ it was really strong. Richie ducked down and carefully made his way towards the staircase.

He didn't want to talk to Virgil again; they'd probably end up yelling at each other, and judging by the amount of thoughts crowding his brain at the moment, he'd be so distracted that he might lose the argument. All the passengers in his witty repertoire compartment had either gone to help their fellow travelers in the more necessary cars or were too distracted by the cries of frustration and doom from their neighbors. Richie wished that he could control his head, to make it all just shut up, but he'd only managed to do that once.

His time with Brainiac was archived in an abandoned subway car, off the tracks, in a dark, barren tunnel. Sometimes due to his innate curiosity he was tempted to access it, but a deeper instinct from his gut held him back. Evidently it felt that those days with Brainiac really sucked, so it was pointless to relive it. It was weird; now he had to rely on third person accounts to even know he had been possessed in the first place. Richie just wished he could figure out how he did it; maybe he could apply it to whatever was making his relationship with Virgil so complicated.

He took another swig and felt himself grow warm. Maybe that would work…

His headache suddenly got worse as a large group of teenagers started to assemble in his area.

"I totally want beads for that!"

"You should get them, girl! Like, your boobs are so awesome. You're skinny, but you got big boobs; everything's going on!"

"I know, right?"

A louder voice arose. "And now Tai freaked the hell out because of Alex and I was all, 'Whatever,' and he was all, 'Whatever,' and Gear was all, 'Whatever.'"

"Ok, so Jeff was saying that his aunt's best friend's husband's transport truck got attacked by… get this… zombies. What a retard, right?"

"I dunno, I think I lost my sense of skepticism around the second time my bank was held up by a guy with his head on fire."

To add more salt to the wound, the outside voices didn't do squat to drown out the inside ones.

The pineapple-shaped hairdo wandering towards his direction was the last straw. Richie turned and lightly placed a hand on a banister, heading upstairs and away from the noise and his date.

Even the hall had people milling about. He was so glad that he could barely count the friends he had on one hand. He didn't know how Frieda had the energy to do it; she'd make a great politician if she wasn't so sincere. Trying to escape the other teens, Richie brought the drink to his mouth with one hand and opened the door to Frieda's parents' room with the other.

"Ugh!" He covered his eyes when he saw the shadows of a couple on the king sized bed, oblivious to their intruder. "Dudes, ok, points for getting a room, but Mr. and Mrs. Goren's? This is where they… oh God, the image! It's in my head, and it won't get out!" Slurps and smacks was all he received in response. A six-pack caught Richie's eye, with two cans remaining trapped in its rings. Richie drunk from his cup as he picked the up the wire.

"Can I use these to hammer out the bad thoughts?"

"Oh god!" There were shifting movements, which thankfully was too dark to see. "Yes...!"

"Awesome," Richie mumbled, grabbing his prize and trying to carry booze with both hands and shut a door with his feet at the same time. It was a challenge, especially with the house tilting the way it was. But he was a superhero, damn it, so he managed. Just like he managed to drink from the mystery cup without closing his eyes in a grimace. He was proud of that.

Richie continued to nurse his drink, which tasted better all the time, as he made his way through the house and to the back porch. Frieda's garden also contained groups of people, who were watching the sun disappear from the sky, but it wasn't nearly as bad as inside. Richie sat on the steps leading to the backyard. Now that he had the beer, he didn't have to drink the harder stuff. Still, wasn't he always taught not to waste food? There were children sober all around the world! To throw the (vodka? whiskey? seltzer?) away now would be disrespectful. So Richie finished it.

After it was done he stared at the cup forlornly, calculating its exact measurements and trying to figure out just how many units of sand would he be able to fit if each particle ranged in size from 1/16 to 2 millimeters. When that game got boring, he threw the empty cup at some guy's head, and snickered when he failed to spot him as his attacker. Who would suspect the mild-mannered human calculator Richie Foley of committing such heinous acts of violence?

With a click the first can of beer was opened and Richie began to laugh with his fellow students as a spontaneous game of hot-potato was played with the red plastic cup. By the time that can was emptied, Richie was joining them. At that point it was more of a drunken game of fetch, but it was still very enjoyable. Richie was thrilled. Finally, he had understood the trick of social acceptance, and it was copious amounts of alcohol. Parties were fun!

"Richie?"

The blond turned at the sound of his name, but unfortunately he twisted too much and ended up doing a complete 360°. Before he could try again he was helped by a pair of hands at his shoulders.

"Yo Veeeeeeee!" Richie gave him a devil horn sign with one hand, still holding his last can of beer loosely with the other. He grinned as the grass tilted dangerously towards his face. He liked grass so much!

"Where the hell have you been? I've been looking for you for half an hour!" Virgil was frowning darkly at him, and Richie guessed he never grabbed those beers he was talking about. Because if he did, he would be so much happier, like Richie was.

He snickered, and tilted his head. "It took you half an hour to find the backyard?" He gazed at Virgil's lips. Were they bleeding?

Virgil followed Richie's look and covered his mouth with his hand. "It's like _Caligula_ in there, Rich! I don't know what the hell was in the keg, but it's damned stronger than beer. You know Anita Basteer? That quiet girl from the back of our chemistry class? She just grabbed my ass and said she could use a chocolate shake! A chocolate shake, Richie!"

He giggled as he visualized the encounter, swaying contently. Poor Virgil, he should have been there to protect him. He now saw things so simply; he had been being neurotic and silly. Virgil would never hurt him, he was his best friend! His very handsomest best friend, who Richie cared about and was attracted to. Then what was holding him back? He had been making things hard for himself, when things could be so simple. Smart Virgil, he was right this whole time! Richie decided to reward this revelation with a kiss.

"Ack!" Virgil managed to catch his friend as he fell forward, grimacing when he felt something wet splash on his leg. His eyes caught the sight of the overturned can of beer even as he used all his strength to keep Richie upright, held against his chest. "Holy shit, are you drunk?"

"Mmmm…" Richie hummed, lifting his head up to match Virgil's gaze. "Almost definitely."

"Great." Virgil maneuvered Richie so that he was facing the same direction as him, and looped one pale arm around his shoulders. Richie didn't think it was necessary, but he couldn't complain. Just wait until he told Virgil the good news!

"But, since when you're drunk you can't _know_ you're drunk, I'm sober!" He looked over at Virgil, nose bumping against his friend's chin. "Or did I just blow your mind?"

Virgil chose not to respond to that. "What the hell were you thinking, Richie?" He began to maneuver them towards the back of the garden, where a gate opened to a side-alley and away from the party.

His friend was too busy laughing to respond. "I said 'blow'!"

Virgil roughly grabbed the can from his friend's hand, throwing it hard against the western fence.

"Hey," Richie whined. "I was using that!"

"Shut up." Virgil growled in response as they slowly made their way away from the crowd. Richie tried to look back to say goodbye to his new friends, but he was kept in an iron grip.

Instead he yelled out as loud as he could, "Bye guys! Nice game, we should… play it at school… in a team. We'd get jackets!" He looked over at his date, who was staring hard ahead. His smile faded when Virgil refused to meet his gaze, and he used his free hand to pat his chest. "Hey. What's the matter?"

Virgil just snorted in disgust. Richie moved closer to try and steal another kiss, which just seemed to make Virgil angrier when he shoved the blond away, only to once again move Richie's arm over his shoulder and securely hold the intoxicated teen around his waist. "Stop it!"

"What?" His friend didn't have to act like that; Richie had figured out that things were so much easier than he first thought. He could see clearly now, the rain was gone. He could see all the obstacles in his way… who wrote that song? Richie grinned widely when, for the first time in months, he didn't somehow know. Also, many other parts of his heads where quiet too, taking a much deserved nap under a fuzzy blanket. He whispered conspiringly to Virgil. "Listen, I forgive you. I'm not mad anymore, so you don't have to be."

"You forgive-" He just shook his head, not bothering to even touch that one. "Mad? You're not mad? That's great, because I am freaking pissed!"

Richie tilted his head. "Why?"

"Why? Why! Because you're drunk like an idiot, plus you smell like crap, and I know you did it just to get back at me for… for… I can't even figure out why you're pissed off at me anymore! You know, I hardly ever had that problem before."

Richie shook his head wildly, but stopped when it made him nauseous. "Wait, V! I'm not mad anymore, like I said. I don't know why I was mad at you either; later when I remember I'll tell you, ok? But we can be together now!" He looked hopefully as his friend, leading him to trip over a rock.

Virgil grimaced as he temporarily had to take on his friend's entire weight, and slowly lowered them to the grass when Richie was unable to regain his footing. Richie moved to lie back, but when that did bad things to his stomach he moved up so that he was sitting crossed-legged, facing a kneeling Virgil. He smiled cheerfully at him as Virgil muttered, "I give up."

"See? I told you. We can be together now." He reached out to pull Virgil closer.

"No! Not that. I mean, I give up." He pushed Richie's hands away, not looking him in the eyes. "It's like there's this space between us, that's never was there before. And… it's only been a week, but I miss you already."

Richie blinked at him, and then rubbed his head. "But, I'm right here."

Virgil sighed and finally looked up. "Rich, remember last week, when I said that our friendship means the world to me, and that I wouldn't risk it for anything? And if things didn't work out, I'd back off because nothing would ever make me risk it?"

The other boy stared at him in silence for several moments, apprehension dawning. "You're breaking up with me?" When Virgil didn't answer Richie struggled to his feet, outraged. "You can't break up with me; we're barely together! And I just had my epiphany!"

"You're drunk! Of course you think you've had an epiphany, you're probably epiphanizing all over the place!" He jerked Richie back down, evidently feeling that the shorter he had to fall, the better. "You probably only now decided that you want to be with me because it would drive you to drink some more!"

Richie widened his eyes at the claim. "You didn't drive me to drink, V. Ok, maybe a little, but you were only a small part of a mosaic of stress." That failed to lighten Virgil's spirits. "Besides, this is what teenagers do, ok? Sometimes, we like to get drunk, and have fun. Spring break, wooo!" He raised his shirt up to his neck as Virgil shielded his eyes.

"You don't have boobs, you moron!" Virgil pushed Richie's shirt down. "You think this is fun? All I've ever wanted was to be with you; to be with you and be happy. But instead my date decides to figuratively kicking me in the balls half a dozen times in that many minutes before playing hide and seek. In my search for him I get molested by so many girls that I think they're trying to turn me away from the dark side, and finally when my date decides that he does want to make nice after all, I can't do anything with him, because he's drunk!"

Richie stared at Virgil's lips, realizing that the blood he saw on his lips was actually lipstick. He traced its form with a finger. "So that's what that is…"

Virgil grabbed the hand. "And look! I show up covered with lipstick all over my face, and you're acting like you don't even care!"

"Well, of course not. You didn't want them to kiss you, it just happened before you could shove them off."

"Well… yeah. Dude, they think they're all Poison Ivy or something!"

"I know you'd never cheat on anyone; especially me. So why would I be mad?" He smiled at Virgil; but for some reason Richie's indifference did not make Virgil any happier. "Virgil, come on… I'm sorry-"

"No," He firmly responded with familiar words. "That's it. You win, ok? We'll go home and forget that this stupid idea of mine ever existed. We'll go back to the way things were. Remember? When we were happy?"

Richie shook his head again, staring at Virgil with wounded eyes. This couldn't be happening! Not just when he managed to pull his head out of his ass. Oh, why didn't he get smashed sooner? "But… I don't want to go home! I wanna stay at the party with you!"

"Virgil!" The cry stopped Virgil from responding to his friend, and he turned to face the frantic redhead running towards him. "They're completely destroying my kitchen! They're putting the dairy spoons with the meat plates and are using our meat forks to cut into their 'brownies'. It is _so_ gross! And blasphemous."

Virgil looked from Richie to Frieda as he stood up. "Um, this is not really a good time right now…"

Frieda folded her arms, well-manicured fingernails thumping against her sweater. "Virgil, technically every time they mix up the cutlery, I have to throw it out. Even now I'm going have to use peroxide to cut corners, and I'll still feel guilty about it."

Virgil swore under his breath and pointed a finger at Richie. "Ok! You, stay right here and don't do anything stupid. In a matter of fact, don't do anything at all! Just sit there… like you're doing now. I'm coming back after I help out Frieda and then we're leaving!"

He responded with a sharp salute. "Godspeed, Kosher Crusader."

Virgil rolled his eyes and jogged away, Frieda following after casting Richie a curious glance. The boy waited until his friends were out of sight before, after several attempts, managing to get on his feet and lurch towards the exit to the backyard. He didn't want to face Virgil at the moment. Just when things were getting easier, everything had become so messed up.

Luckily, the Foley men were happy drunks, and by the time he made it to the back fence he was already whistling and convinced that in the morning Virgil would turn around. He was so happy he almost didn't feel the needle in his arm or the stench of rotting flesh that suddenly encircled him. No, wait, those were limbs that smelt like rotting flesh.

As Richie heard fences break down and shrieks of fear from the formerly reveling students, he came to another epiphany. Well, he came to two. The first was that Virgil was right about alcohol and epiphanies, and the other…

…"_The ones who were outside the window just gave up…" After Richie left…_

…_the three other zombies were found soon, collapsed on the other side of the alley's wall. Where Richie was…_

_...all three attacks occurred when they were in some way weakened. He and Virgil were out of costume, and then separated…_

…'_She's- it's stronger than this. Could it be that it's trying to keep me a-'…_

Alive.

The zombies weren't just targeting Bang Babies. They had been targeting_ him_. A tingling sensation traveled up his limbs while he fell forward. While Richie lost consciousness, he once again wished that he had taken up drinking sooner.

* * *

Waking up occurred in stages. First he was cold, shivering, and he couldn't move his arms around himself to contain a tiny bit of heat. And his head… his head was throbbing in a torturous rhythm. After listening to his teeth clatter for a countless length of time, he felt something soft and heavy being pulled up to his shoulders and gently tucked around him. He sighed as the cold abated, but he still couldn't move his arms down to allow them to share the warmth.

Later he became more aware of himself and figured out that he was lying on something soft and his hands were chained behind his head, but he was not awake enough yet to start freaking out. He couldn't even remember what happened the night before, or care.

The third stage involved him remembering that, once again, he had been kidnapped, which directly led to the fourth stage of opening his eyes.

All he saw were blurs, his glasses were missing. He groaned as his headache continued to torment him, and part of him considered that it was as much from the booze as it was from the drugs. He closed his eyes when the bright light became too much.

"Are you ok?" The voice was soft and high-pitched, but masculine. The voice of a child, Richie presumed. He narrowed his eyes towards the direction of the sound. Yes, it was definitely a child; a white kid with dark hair. He couldn't make out much more.

"Water." He winced and cleared his throat. "Water, please."

"Um, uh, right!" There was a scramble of movement as the kid ran out of sight. Richie heard a door open and slam shut (he was not locked in) and he was alone again. The teen looked around as best he could. The room, from what he could make out, was furnished like any other bedroom for a boy; with a closet, bureau, desk, something that looked like a pile of clothes-

He was shocked from his observations by a door opening again as the younger boy moved back in. Richie jumped as something cold splashed on his chest.

"Sorry," the boy murmured as he tilted the cup to Richie's lips, allowing him to drink eagerly. Richie tilted his head back, indicating that he had enough, as he felt the kid watching him. "I didn't know that you'd get sick like this, or sleep this long. I'm sorry." The voice sounded close to tears, and Richie automatically comforted him.

"Hey, that's ok. It's probably just didn't mix well with the alcohol." He blinked a few times in a vain attempt to see clearer. "And the hangover is mostly what's causing the headache. Hangovers are resulted from dehydration, so I think I should be better now." He wasn't.

The boy nervously began tucking the blanket closer around Richie, asking in a surprised tone, "You… you drink?"

"I dunno; do I?" He grew silent as he squinted into the fuzzy ceiling, trying to recall the night before. Suddenly he did. Richie tensed and tried to rear up, but only managed to jerk his hips and kick the blanket down to his ankles. Shit! He turned to look in the general direction of the kid. "Ok, I know it's been a whole month since my last encounter with the Stockholm syndrome and so this thing is basically inevitable, but I really need to go back and talk to someone about something. You think we could reschedule this for another time?"

The boy must have been taken back by his captive's blasé attitude. "How many times have you been kidnapped?"

Richie told him.

Silence reigned for a whole minute. "…wow, that's a lot."

"Yeah." He shot the boy that huge grin that always startled him when he caught it in a mirror. "And I got away every time, from much bigger guys than you, no offense. In fact, I think I've babysat bigger guys than you… You're how old?"

"I'm sixteen." Even with the boy's features blurred, Richie could tell that was bullshit. Clearly, his expression said it for him. "Fifteen," the boy amended, but the blond did not relent. "Fourteen-"

"And we're counting down to what?" He exaggeratingly looked around the room. "Is Dick Clark on the premises? I've always known there was something ghoulish about him…"

"Thirteen, I'm thirteen." He swallowed, and muttered under his breath, "Since last month."

Richie relaxed after he jerked as his hands a few times, feeling the metal clink. Handcuffs, nice. He wondered why everyone had handcuffs… "And so you're the one who got those, uh, things to attack me and my friend at that restaurant."

"And in the graveyard."

Richie widened his eyes in innocent confusion. "What?"

"Don't try to lie! I know who you are, we saw you using your inventions in Surrey while out of costume. You're Gear…" He lowered his voice. "But I promise not to tell anyone."

Richie's face grew serious as a bad feeling in his stomach grew. "Well, that's nice, but your promise is pointless, since I'm not Gear. You think Dakota has only one Boy Genius?"

"The black guy was shooting lightning bolts from his hands."

His headache had just got worse. Now he had to figure out how to keep this kid quiet after he escaped or got rescued. What day was it? It was at least Sunday, the beginning of the week, so the 'Virgil: Ass Savior' quota should start anew. Excellent.

Richie changed the subject. "So, why have you kidnapped someone you think is Gear, anyways? Is this a fiendish and ingenious trap for Static? Do you want me to invent a crazy sexy fun fun weapon of pain? I know you're dying to tell me, it's part of the job description." Richie had long ago surmised that none of his kidnappers had access to the internet, and thus, the Evil Overlord List.

The boy was quiet for a moment, taking in a deep breath and letting it out. "I love you."

"Ok, that one's new." Richie closed his eyes as his head imploded. He jerked his chains as he muttered to himself, "What, is my power mutating or something?"

Oh God, he had to get out of here. He had to get out of there or else Static would come to rescue him, find out why he had been kidnapped, and then make fun of him. Virgil would never let him live it down.

"So that's why you're here." The child had left the bed to rummage in the corner for something. "Because I had to see you, and talk with you. I think you're the most amazing person ever. I'm the president of your fan club!"

"Ok… you really could have done all of that without involving abduction by zombies and tying me to a be- Wait, I have a fan club? Really?" Richie tilted his head up in interest.

"It's on Geocities, or you can try our Yahoo group. We have over two hundred members!" There was a pause the boy stood, closing a fist. "But sometimes forum members from Static's Yahoo group come over to flame us. But no more; not anymore. Now they will pay."

"…uh huh." Richie figured he better get back in control of this quickly snowballing situation as quickly as possible. Although he knew he could knock his capturer unconscious easily with his legs, it wouldn't really get him anywhere. Furthermore, when he considered that option images of a hurt Virgil flew forward to his mind's eye, and he was too filled with shame to follow through. Only one option was really left to him. "What's your name?"

"Johnny," the boy answered as he came forward again, holding something to his chest. Richie grimaced. Johnny, like the homicidal maniac. That's just… peachy. "What's your name? Or were you born Gear?"

The blond widened his eyes. So he didn't know who he was except by sight! Well, at least that was something. "Uh, Gear would be just fine."

"What's your real name?" The boy mused to himself. "I've been trying to guess. Something deep and majestic, to match your emerald eyes-"

"-My eyes are brown."

"Well, I thought they were green!"

"Everything looks green under the visor."

"Anyways, I was thinking it was something like Luke, or Horatio." He sighed in a manner that Richie only saw other boys do when they were mocking swooning girls. "Maybe I could call you Juan Pablo."

"…My name is Ed."

"Oh." Johnny looked down in disappointment, but then hopefully looked back up. "Like Edward?"

"No. They only gave me Ed."

"Oh." The boy sighed unhappily, but then shrugged and thrust something that looked like a pile of papers under Richie's nose. "I wrote a story about us! So, maybe you could know what it would be like, when you liked me back."

Richie glanced at the papers, then at Johnny. "I can't see anything without my glasses," he informed him.

The boy mumbled out an apology as he rifled through his pockets, saying something about how he took them off to get a better look at Richie while he slept. Richie just shrugged and smiled like it was no trouble at all because, really, what else could you do when you heard something that creepy? Johnny nervously perched the glasses over the older boy's nose, almost poking Richie's eye out in the process due to his shaking.

There must have been at least one hundred pages settled next to the boy, on the bed. All devoted to a story about him. Well, that wasn't sad or pathetic at all… Richie tilted his head upwards to gaze a presented page. "I can still barely read it. If you untied me I could hold it better."

"Oh no." Johnny shook his head ardently. "You'd just try to run away, I know it. I have that affect of people. I'm not crazy, I know you don't like me yet. You'd escape and I'd never see you again."

"Johnny, I wouldn't run away. I'm not angry, ok? I'm annoyed, but I'm sort of glad you did this. I've been looking for you, you know. For whoever was using those zombies like that. I want to talk to you, too." He finally moved his gaze from the paper, which was causing his hands to ache for a red pen to correct the multiple misspellings of 'tongue' and 'emerald orbs', to meet Johnny's eyes. He took in a sharp breath as he examined the features. "Hey, I know you! You're… that boy from that other day. We rescued you from Hotstreak, and you asked for an autograph…"

"You do remember me!" The boy blushed with pleasure, the color a sharp contrast to the black threads greased to the shape of his skull. He was even skinnier than Richie first thought, though that could have just been a sign of an out of control metabolism rather than malnourishment. Richie was real scrawny as a kid, himself. A small dust of acne was the only sign that the boy was beginning to enter adolescence. Puberty was a cruel bitch. "When you didn't at first, I was worried."

"Well, it's been a busy week." He sighed and turned his gaze from the kid, moving it around the room. This led to an even more unpleasant surprise. "Shit!" He swore, as the pile of clothes transformed into a limp, crumpled form of a redheaded Metahuman. He sharply jerked to look at Johnny. "Has he been unconscious this whole time?" He barked out, nice and understanding camp counselor voice gone.

The other boy paled even further, so far as that he looked like one of the ghouls he seemed able to control. "Yes! Don't worry, he couldn't have heard us. I had to keep him close in case the needles started messing his body up, but he's out cold. I'm sure of that." He stood up anyways, and walked towards his other captive.

Richie felt something twinge in his gut, feeling for the first time since his capture an emotion stronger than irritation, embarrassment, or pity. "What… what did you use to knock him out? Don't you get that you could seriously hurt him?"

Johnny looked to Richie again with his pair of pig eyes. "So? He tried to hurt me. He deserves it." He then gave a gummy grin "But he's what led to you finally noticing me for the first time, so that's good, right?"

"Not good!" Richie growled out. "Why is he here? What are you planning to do with him? Tie him to a bed and recite bad erotica to him, too?"

"Shhh, it's ok. We'll move him so he won't see you," the scrawny kid said, like that was the thing giving Richie the shivers. He got a surprise when he moved over to grab a pair of brawny arms, as they happened to twitch. Johnny fell back with a scream as Richie's heart leaped to his chest. Sure, he would no longer be at the mercy of the most disturbing fan club president since Yolanda Saldívar, but he figured an awake and pissed off Hotstreak would be even harder to deal with. Not to mention the chance that the Bang Baby would see Richie tied to the bed, and the shrine in the corner, and put two and two together-

Wait a minute, there was a shrine? Richie tilted his head towards the smell of incense and put the makeshift pedestal in full view. It was actually a bulletin board, and it was literally covered with photos of Gear in action. Some were from the newspapers and magazines, he recognized one where he and Static were posing, the latter having been cut out. Even stranger, there were several unofficial photos of him that seemed to be taken by a casual viewer. There was one he recognized from that battle with Talon three weeks ago, he remembered turning around after noticing a flashing light in the corner of his eye. That's how the Sonic Blast knocked him off track, as seen up on the board. And the _piece de resistance_, placed into the exact center, was a signed autograph.

'Keep your mind to it and you can achieve anything. Your hero, Gear.'

Crap.

Luckily, all Hotstreak managed was a twitch and a low mumbling command. "No… shoot the _baby_ panda…"

Johnny hushed him and walked to the bureau, reaching up and pulling out a black suitcase that seemed like some sort of medical kit. He then kneeled down again and readied a yellow, deadly looking needle containing an unknown agent. Richie jerked at the bindings again, something the child chose to ignore.

"Stop! You don't know what you're doing, you could kill him!" The room was growing cold.

For a moment the black haired youth looked unsure, and he paused to tilt his head. Richie thought he heard slight hissings, but it could have been the wind. Johnny exhaled like all will was lifted from him, to be replaced with relief. "Don't worry. I'm being helped." He tilted his head up to smile at Richie as he stabbed Hotstreak's arm with the needle, slowly and methodically injecting him. "I couldn't have done all this without him."

Behind Johnny there was nothing but a blue wall, made lighter than the rest of the wallpaper from the sun shimmering through the window. Richie saw nothing but he knew that something was there. He recognized the eyes without seeing them, the same eyes that Tan Xie Shu and zombie from the diner had. Normally the blond would not accept a conclusion based on nothing but intangible premonitions, but since when were ghosts tangible?

Somehow, Richie knew that whatever that thing was, it had plans that did not correspond with Johnny's. And alive or not, it was the one that was really running the show.

Super crap.

And finally, Richie started to get a bit scared.

* * *

(1) Homage to _Arrested Development_, the funniest thing on TV.

As always, reviews, including constructive crit, are more than welcomed.

Top of Form


	9. Turning the Coroner

Thanks to all who have reviewed, and who were patient with the long wait between updates. As is tradition, personal thanks to my new reviewers: **valkyrie-alex**, **Reine Katashka**, **Kkwy**, **Maggie**, **Flamenco Penguin**, and **blue leafy**.

* * *

Mind the Gap

Chapter 9: Turning the Coroner

Richie glared at the ceiling, jerking at the chains holding him down. It did little to improve the situation, but the clinking of metal was marginally satisfying. Alright, he had to rescue Hotstreak without being seen by him, save his stalker from the negative influences of a demon or phantom or whatever, and get rid of said demon or phantom or whatever using just the power of his mind. All before his parents realized he was gone… but the amount of light shining into the room told him that that was a lost cause.

He looked up as the door opened, and then away when he saw that it was only Johnny with a tray. How the hell was he supposed to deal with ghosts, anyways? Who you gonna call? No, wait… if he was going to summon a cartoon character, it would have to be Scooby Doo. Then the dog could just trip over the ghost, revealing that it was the nasty old Mr. Stephens all along, trying to destroy the property value of the old but, judging by the size of the bedroom he was staying in, costly home.

The sour stench of mustard drifted through the air as Johnny placed the tray over Richie's bound form. The dark-haired boy raised the source of the sharp smell, a baloney sandwich, and then in a flash lifted the top bread and pressed the smeared side against Richie's sweatshirt.

"Oh no!" He gasped in false dismay. "I have dropped the mustard and baloney sandwich on your shirt. It- it is now staining from the mustard. We must take it off."

"…" Richie tried to cock a brow, but he'd never been able to do that so he just raised both.

Johnny looked away, breathing heavily. "Um, to clean the mustard off it… which is staining it from the yellowness of the mustard."

Ruh roh.

"Sure," Richie began, and then pulled on the chains binding his wrists above his head. "Just take these off so we can pull my shirt over my head."

"Oh!" Johnny looked down as his plot was thwarted by the laws of physics. He sniffled, rubbing a damp hand on the blanket balancing over Richie's leg, and then sighed. Both boys looked at the senseless loss of a decent sweatshirt, and the younger one lifted a handkerchief from the tray, dipping it into Richie's water. He took away the bread and moved to wipe the yellow blemish. "Um…I'll just… let me-"

"Johnny?" Richie gave him a long-suffering look. "Just… don't. You're embarrassing me, you're embarrassing yourself." He watched as the kid lowered the napkin, his lips betraying an ashamed tremble. "Mostly yourself."

"Kay." The brunet nervously played with the paper towel, tearing it up into tiny pieces. He then dropped the trash on the tray, and picked it up before he walked to his desk, leaving Richie to frown at the stain. Just the sight of it was making his stomach recoil in protest, like he wasn't uncomfortable enough. Alcohol, both his mind and bladder helpfully informed him, was a diuretic.

Richie squirmed his legs and was about to inform Johnny of the problem when he spotted the boy writing over the papers he had shown Richie earlier. "What are you doing?"

"Making our story more accurate," Johnny informed him, the flowing of his pen seeming to calm his nerves after his last goof-up. "Your eyes are onyx now!"

Richie grinded his teeth. "Are you sure you want to keep me alive? Maybe you want to kill me, instead? Come on, I'm helpless here. It would be so easy to end my misery."

"You don't like onyx?" Johnny looked sick and nervously licked his lips, which was something of a habit. "Maybe amber…"

"My eyes are brown! BROWN! Brun! Braun! Colore marrone, ok?" He shook his head, and shifted his legs up and down the bed. "What do you have against brown eyes? The nicest pair of eyes in the world is brown! Many wonderful things are brown, all starting with the letter 'c': Cinnimon, chocolate, coffee. Um… Coors beer. Ok, that's about it. But don't you _dare_ say I have chocolate eyes, or I swear I'll…" He trailed off, and finally concluded with, "They're brown!"

Johnny's face grew red as his tiny eyes scrunched up, and he ran from the room, sniffling.

"Hey, wait! I have to pee!" He sighed when he received no answer, his stomach once again turning in on itself, but not from the smell.

Didn't he used to be nice, once? Was there not a time when he didn't make emotionally fragile children weep? A time when he didn't treat his best friend like crap? Somehow, he was turning into a jerk. He was turning into his dad! Richie took in a deep breath. No, that wasn't going to happen. It was time for an attitude adjustment; he was turning a corner. Not three corners, because what if the world was a triangle? He'd be right where he started! Just one corner would suffice.

The teen was trying to maintain this change in his personality through the protests of his bladder when the younger boy mustered up the courage to return about an hour or so later.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

"Oh." Johnny paused, red eyes darting in that trapped animal motion they had. After glancing at a door that Richie guessed connected to a washroom, he shook his head. "You'll run away."

"I won't. Hand to God, ok?" No reason to tell the kid that the idea of a supreme divinity seemed grow more and more implausible as his powers grew.

Perhaps Johnny's power had affected his faith as well, because the boy continued to look unsure.

Then cold air rose in the room again, causing it to appear dark and shadowed despite how the light from the spring sun shined through the window. The hairs on the sides of Richie's arms stood up and his attention turned to a corner of the room, near the open door to the hallway and under a Justin Timberlake poster. He intently stared at a stain that marred the green carpet there, as though it could spring up and attack him within the next desperate moments. Hell, in a world where he was kidnapped by a lonely thirteen-year-old necromancer, was dodging zombies in graveyards, and was his straight best friend's object of affection, maybe it could.

In the corner of his eyes Richie saw Johnny tilt his head and gently move his chapped lips, but he dared not avert his gaze. Then as suddenly it came it was gone, and Richie fell against the bed in a slump, as if he had spent an hour tensely hiding himself from sight.

Johnny looked at him, seemingly unaffected from whatever had just visited them. "Hold on a moment!" He scrambled out, and Richie almost begged him to stay.

If that had been the only boy's company for who knew how long, no wonder he was a bit cracked. Richie wondered if that thing was still there, and only made its presence known if it wanted to communicate, or if it had gone to wherever ghosts… demons… _thingies_ went on their down time.

Great, that thought just sparked a new compartment into being, and it was already dashing through his brain along with compartments entitled, 'Mathematics Must Be Slayed', 'Richie's Escape Plan: XXVII', and 'Oh My Fucking God: Zombies!'. Also, his problems with Virgil had their own damned train, and to make things worse, The Pussycat Dolls had been performing their newest hit single on a continuously looping track since he had woken up.

This is what entertained Richie's mind until the smell of rotting flesh registered, and he grew green as Johnny entered the room, followed by four of the newly risen. Two went to block the exit, and the other two stood on either side of the bed. "That's really not necessary," Richie said.

Johnny just shrugged, and lifted a key from his pocket, undoing the chains. Richie winced as he pulled his arms back down, rubbing his wrists despite the fact that the handcuffs were not as tight as some. He then sat up, trying to resist the urge to push the other kid aside and dash into the bathroom.

He swung his legs over the bed and looked at his captor. His mind carefully thought out an escape route, a plan that had about a sixty-six percent chance of success, though the chances diminished rapidly depending on just how isolated the building was, how many corpses were in the area, how much power Johnny's fiend had, etc. But even if he had managed to escape, there would still be the problem of a child, seemingly alone except for a very, _very_ bad thing, with the powers to create havoc and 'uncreate' death. And to deal with that problem, he had to stay. He just hoped that Virgil and his parents weren't freaking out too much, because he doubted that he could get to a phone. "Johnny… where are your parents?"

The boy looked up, surprised at the question. He licked the top of his lips, which was growing to be a nasty shade of red that stood out against his unhealthily pale pallor. "I don't know." He continued when he saw Richie's confused features. "Death is sorta like… Tupperware. I mean, after you die, usually after a bit of time there's this… pop. You go somewhere else, somewhere not even I can reach. So I don't know where they went, or even if they still…" He shrugged and concentrated his gaze on his own twitching wrist. "Didn't you want to go to the washroom?"

Johnny looked up in shock when his wrist was gently enclosed by strong fingers, and tilted his eyes to meet the gaze of his victim. "I'm so sorry…" Richie stated, then inwardly winced at the emptiness of the cliché, and spoke further. "A friend of mine lost his mother when he was just a few years younger than you, too. It's still hard for him to talk about it." He moved his hand lower to cup around the other boy's palm, and gave it a squeeze.

"It's no problem." The blush forming on Johnny's cheeks reminded Richie on the reason he was brought here, but he didn't let go. "Going through the Tupperware isn't that bad, I think. I mean, I don't sense anything from there, but if it means not existing it can't hurt you, right? Staying in the in-between place, that's awful."

"Is that where that person who's been helping you is? In the in-between place?" After Johnny's nod Richie looked at his skinny frame, then back at his eyes again. "How long have you been alone?"

Johnny shrugged again, and then looked forlorn when Richie finally let his hand drop.

"How have you been eating? Didn't your school notice when you stopped showing up? Or, um… hasn't anyone checked up on your parents?"

"Well, we were sorta alone out here. I mean, the closest building other than this house is an old church and the town's cemetery. It used to creep me out until the chemical spill, when I started sensing things… and didn't get anything from the bodies. They're just that… empty shells."

"They're not just shells to a lot of people, Johnny," Richie gently reminded him. The pressure in his lower body was starting to get painful, but he just crossed his legs and endured. "So, there was a 'spill', and that's when you started to be able to do things?"

Johnny nodded, stating proudly, "My parents were scientists! They were working together on something for Alva industries."

"Uh huh…" Richie continued to squirm even as his interest was peaked.

"It was very secretive, so we were sent here about a couple of months from my birthday. I liked it, because I hate other people. And Dad was always home, so it wasn't just Mom home-schooling me anymore. But," Johnny took in Richie's uncomfortable movements. "It's ok, you can go… I'll keep talking." He seemed to be willing to do anything in order to hold Richie's attention.

He received a grateful look, and the blond dashed to the bathroom, locking it. Immediately he felt as though he was being watched, but not from the door he had just shut behind him. Careful to not looking at the bathroom mirror, Richie moved to a rack of towels that was placed across the toilet. After grabbing a particularly large towel, Richie clenched his eyes closed and quickly used it to cover the looking-glass. He didn't know whether he was trying to hide himself from the gaze he sensed, or trying to prevent himself from seeing whatever was watching him.

Feeling his paranoia decline, Richie gave the restroom further consideration. For being connected to a child's bedroom, the bathroom was large, attesting to the scale of the building. Alva employees must have it good… other than the fact that they work for an insane, corrupt sadist, but still, check out the benefits. The only window he saw was high above his head, and too small for his shoulders to squeeze through. Finished searching for possible exits, Richie took care of more pressing matters.

When he was done he flushed and turned on the water, but let it run even when he finished washing his hands, to cover the sounds of his search. "Hey!" He called out, hoping to distract Johnny. "You said before that you liked it here, but then you insinuated that something was wrong. What was it?"

Johnny's voice quickly piped up, from a place more close to the door than Richie was comfortable with. "Oh! I thought that they would be able to spend more time with me, now that they were both working at home. But they were so busy all the time! Working in the lab, analyzing photographs of Metahumans, especially _stupid _Static-"

"Static?" Richie interrupted as he opened the cabinet under the bathroom, feeling a protective surge run through his body. "What did they want with him?"

"They never told me." Johnny sighed. "Sometimes I would ask them stuff, mostly about you, but Mr. Eldritch wouldn't let them answer. 'It was a security risk', he said. Like anyone would listen to me, anyways. I mean, anyone who's not online."

"I thought it was just you and your parents?" Richie gave a can of shaving cream a critical gaze. It was combustible…

"Nope, he lived with us too. He was my parents' supervisor, I guess… though they were much smarter than he was. You're taking a long time in there."

"Yeah, well, I can't really help that. You have to let nature take its course." Richie detached the head of a razor blade and carefully wrapped it in toilet paper, then set it down as he stuffed the pocket of his jeans with paper as well. "So, is that how you started to, uh, know me? Through their studies?"

"Yeah, but mostly they paid attention to that fire guy, or to the shadow man, or to stupid Static. I guess because their powers were more obvious. I didn't like how they just pushed you aside like that, especially since you were obviously the coolest of them all. With the other guys they would try to find samples from their past battles, took picture after picture, and experimented with that strange gas stuff. It was always 'Metahumans, Metahumans, Metahumans!'"

After carefully stuffing the paper down his pocket, Richie placed the razor blade within it, hoping that he wouldn't regret the decision by cutting himself. He turned off the water and shot the door a look. "Kid, you didn't really _spill_ the chemical, did you?"

"Um... no. But I thought it would let me fly or turn invisible. Not turn me into Voldemort or something." He was quiet for a moment. "Are you done yet?"

"Yeah, I'm done." Richie flushed the toilet and briefly ran the water again before stepping out. He remained tense as he watched the two corpses that blocked the exit, and the two more that were hovering near the bed. "Could you… make them leave, please? I can't handle the stench, and I'm not going to run."

Johnny sadly shook his head again.

"Then let's talk some more." Richie forced himself to casually move towards the desk, pulling out its chair and straddling it. "So, you got the powers to raise the dead?"

"Well, reanimate them, I guess. And I can see spirits who are still stuck. And if I want to send my zombies somewhere I'm not, then I can place the stucked ones into one of their forms, and they can sorta control them for me, like a General. But unfortunately their bodies decay so then he has to leave them. And I know I can do other things, but I haven't had a chance to try, yet." The words continued to flow out the boy's mouth, fired on by the interest Richie was showing to him. "A couple days after the spill I told my parents, and I thought they would be happy, because now they didn't have to study strangers, they could study me!"

Johnny stopped, and it seemed what he was willing to narrate on his own was finished. Unfortunately for him, Richie could be exceedingly nosy, his oversized brain craving further information… but his minty-fresh gentle state of being prevented him to do little more than gentle prodding. He stood up again and approached the boy, crouching so that they were eye to eye. "Do you want to tell me how your parents died?"

The red lips were licked again nervously, and the boy walked back towards his bed, sitting between the two corpses as if they were not present. "Ok," he said in a nonchalant tone. "I am the King of Death, so speaking of it does not bother me."

Richie couldn't help but to remember the fantasies the boy had put to paper.

"The night I told my parents, they weren't happy and they were scared and angry. They made me go into my room and then I went to sleep and then I heard yelling and they were screaming with Mr. Eldritch because he had heard everything and I couldn't tell what they were screaming but then there were crashes and there were crashes in the kitchen and crashes in the living room and crashes and a lot of shots. My parents and Mr. Eldritch kept guns. Now they are all dead, but not all are gone yet."

Richie slipped past the grey guards to sit on the mattress next to Johnny, carefully moving an arm around his shoulders. "That's why you brought me here, isn't it? You don't want me as a boyfriend, you want me to help you."

The brunet considered the suggestion for a moment, timidly staring at his captive from the corner of his dark eyes. "If by helping me you mean letting me see you naked, then yes."

Richie chuckled uncomfortably, resisting the urge to remove his arm. From its socket. "Not gonna happen. But I will help you get rid of this thing, Mr. Eldritch, from haunting you."

"Oh, I've already got that covered!" The boy broke out into an enthusiastic grin that was especially eerie considering he had just finished describing his parents' murders. He laced his fingers together and twiddled his thumbs in contained excitement. "Soon Mr. Eldritch will be gone and it can be just us!"

Richie narrowed his eyes nervously, somehow not liking where this was going. "You want to send him through the Tupperware?" Johnny appeared ashamed as he looked away.

The super-powered mamajama of a computer that was Richie's brain calculated the answer too quickly for him to keep his mouth in check. "You're going to put him into a live body!"

"How did you-"

"Holy shit, you're going to give that evil thingy _Hotstreak's_ body!"

"So? He deserves it, with the way he was picking on me. He's just a big bully anyways." Johnny stood up and crossed his arms, lips drawn into a tight frown.

"Even so, you can't just use someone like that!" Richie stopped himself from yelling further as he noticed the walking corpses stirring from their vigil. "I just don't get it. Why would you want to give such power to the man who killed your parents?"

The change of tone did little to placate Johnny, as the corpses continued to slowly move their rotting heads towards the older youth. Even worse, the tingling sensation on Richie's arms was back, so he forced himself to avoid looking at the corner because then he wouldn't be able to look away again. The pale boy shivered, and shook his head. "You don't get it! Death… it's not that bad, I think. Where he is, though, it's bad! And he's been the only person who's been here since that night. This way I can make him happy, make him go away, and make that mutant jerk pay!" His hysteria abated as he narrowed his eyes into a considering glint. "And I don't like the way you're talking to me."

Richie lunged forward at the same time as the grey creatures on either side of him lifted their arms towards him, the kinetic energy from his warm blood giving him the advantage of speed. Seeing no other way out, he dived between the time-ravaged legs of the guardians of the door. He tumbled to the wood-lined floor, glasses clattering beside him. He was too busy trying to crawl away to reach them.

Richie heard a soft whisper from Johnny, and the omniscience of the dark presence was depleted. But before he could be relieved, he was grabbed around the ankle and pulled back. He screamed in frustration as his fingers scrambling against the floor. Roughly, he was pulled up by the scruff of his shirt, the slower zombie grabbing his other arm when he was righted and pulled backwards towards the bed.

"Wait," he begged as Johnny came into sight, shaking hands curling around the two pairs of handcuffs. "Look at what you're doing. You can't do this; you don't _have_ to do this. Listen, you're a good kid. You don't have to kidnap people for them to be your friends, you don't have to work for someone because you're scared. I'm here, ok? I won't run away, just let me help you!" Richie winced as the zombie to his left, the one that he was sure had those terrible eyes, twisted the arm it held. "You've scared a few people because you were scared yourself, but that's it. Just… stop this before you hurt someone!"

He thought he saw Johnny's form start, but almost everything was a blur. "Hurt someone?"

"Yes!" Richie wheezed, thinking that he was getting through to him. "Look, you're caught up in this right now, a victim, just like me. But you… you could get someone killed! There's not turning back from that- Ugh!" He kicked out when he was roughly pushed back down on the bed, feeling marginally satisfied when a sneaker got a good, solid 'thunk' at a nearby lump of flesh, but the way both legs were then caught and held down made it a weak victory.

With the struggling boy held still, Johnny approached the head of the bed, attaching his wrists back to the bedpost. Richie heard him speak, but with his weak gaze he could not see him.

"After the shots my parents came to me but they were nowhere and they were screaming at me to hide or to run or to call the police so I ran downstairs when Mr. Eldritch took the bodies away and I opened the cupboard and I found our gun and I took the gun from the cupboard and I closed the cupboard and I ran upstairs and went under the covers. I could have used the bodies to attack Mr. Eldritch but I couldn't use the bodies to attack Mr. Eldritch so I closed my eyes like if I slept then Mr. Eldritch would ignore me and my parents would stop yelling at me. My parents stopped yelling at me."

The malnourished boy's tiny hands were close enough for Richie to see that they were fluttering wildly, and if he could have he would have grasped them still. "And I heard him come up the stairs and my parents were going farther and farther away and he opened the door and I pulled out the hammer and pushed in the trigger three times. And that's how I learned that some people go through Tupperware and some people stay."

"Johnny-" Richie tried to reach out, but by now both hands were bound.

"He won't go away or shut up, and he shouldn't, because I was the one who sent him there. I knew that he would go back upstairs; I knew that they were fighting about me! I thought he would go like my parents did, but now he's stuck here, and it's my fault!" Johnny sniffled. "But he's forgiving me. He was the one who said that I could bring you here, and he helped me do it. Now he just needs someone to live through, then it will be undone." Richie heard the sounds of Johnny walking towards the door.

"Wait! Hold on a sec… you'll never undo what you've done, ok? Especially not by giving a known killer the body of one of the most powerful Metahumans in the city!" He could tell that his pleads were falling on deaf ears. "What happened… it was in self-defense. Temporary insanity. No court in the country would convict you. Well, no court in about forty-nine states." He felt relieved as the steps came back towards him, but instead of replying Johnny just gently placed Richie's glasses back over his nose. He watched at Johnny turned his back to him and walked away, again. "Hey, get back here!" He slumped back into the bed when he heard the door snick shut.

But he was not alone. Richie snarled and pulled at his bonds.

"Listen up, you filthy creature that's too dirty to bathe in Slimer's ectoplasm, if you can even hear what I'm saying with the Demons of Hell shrieking from wherever is so unfortunate to be where you are. You're going down, both literally and figuratively. Won't be a challenge, neither, since Casper could own your ass. If you're not beat down by me, and trust me, as soon as I get out of here it will to happen, you uncle-humping piece of crap, then by my partner, because there is nothing he couldn't give a seriously deserved ass-whupping. You're going to wish that you were just fried with a proton beam by the time we're through with you. We've faced foes that were actually, you know, tangible, and whose extent of powers didn't begin and end with 'boo'. You think you can even stand a second against Static and me? Shit."

Like pulling his chains, his speech did little to improve the situation, but it was marginally satisfying.

* * *

No matter how much his faith in a higher power was shaken through the reformation of his intellect, no matter how impossible the idea of a Big Daddy in the clouds who personally cared about the soul of every mortal on Earth seemed, events in Richie's life brought him again and again to the conclusion that yes, there was a God. And this all-powerful being was a vindictive bastard who punished people through irony.

" 'Gee, Ed. That's twice you've let the zombies get the jump on you. Zombies, they're like the slowest-' "

"-shut up."

" 'The slowest enemies ever. The only monster that's any easier to get away from is the Mummy-' "

"-I tell him to shut up, Lord. Why doth he still speaketh?"

"They're the one-legged puppies of the supernatural world. 'I can do it on my own!' Li'l Brudder, heart of a champion!"

"Hey, _hey_! I distinctly remember describing them as tortoises!" There was a splash from the bathroom as the new 'guest' fumbled to turn.

"Mine's funnier," Richie replied. "And has a pop culture reference."

"Internet cartoons are not pop culture, Rich. Because if they were, you would be cool and then universe would collapse on itself."

"That's Ed. Call me Ed, now."

"Ed? Why Ed?"

"Um, because it's my name, Mr. 'I Don't Have To Worry About Things Like That Because I Am Wearing a Mask'.

"…right." Richie heard Static splash around again and tried to move his head so that he could see through the open bathroom door. Unfortunately, the angle was not aligned so that he could accomplish that.

"Hey," Richie said. "Can you see me?"

"I can see your foot just fine."

Richie wiggled his left foot towards the door and then stilled it. When the door opened a few minutes before to reveal an unconscious Static thrown over the shoulder of a zombie, Richie was terrified. He screamed for Johnny to come to the room too, and tell him what happened, but it only managed to make Static stir. He was forced to just helplessly listen as his best friend and partner was thrown into the bathtub and sprayed with a torrent of water, which, judging by the wakening teen's yelps, was very cold. After the bath filled up and Static was chained to the tub, the monster left. The blond demanded responses from his partner. Was he ok? Did anything hurt? What day was it? How was he knocked out? When all of these questions were answered to his satisfaction, then the teasing began.

Richie was about to metaphorically poke Static with a sharp stick again when he stopped himself, remembering what happened the night before. They weren't just best friends anymore, as much as a part of Richie wished otherwise. The fun ribbing between them became hurtful too easily now. He bit his lip and said, "I'm sorry for making fun of you."

"What?" Came the surprised voice amidst the sounds of clanking metal against metal.

"For you getting captured, I mean. It happens enough to me, anyways. At least when you get rescued, you stay rescued."

There was a pause, before Static asked in a concerned voice, "Ri-Ed… Red, did they hurt you?"

"Huh? No, I was just injected with a sedative at the- Party! Is everyone alright? I heard screams before I was knocked out."

"They're fine." Static's costume sloshed around. "Static saved them," he said, almost bitterly. "It took awhile for the news of the attack to get inside; we just thought the screams were just the party getting out of hand. And then when we finally heard about the zombies, only at the time they were called hobos on PCP, you were already gone. The bad guys were easy enough to take out, once Static got there… but I couldn't find you or anything."

Richie could hear the guilt in his friend's voice. "Hey, it's alright. I'm fine." He wiggled his foot again as proof. "You did the right thing. Those things could have really hurt someone. We knew that the zombies wanted Bang Babies alive, and besides, we're superheroes. I think protecting the civvies was the only right choice you had."

"Well… at least I'm here, now. And you're ok, and I'm ok"

"The being tied to the tub thing? Totally according to plan."

"Hell ya, they're on my palm, I'm telling you. Speaking of… know who's 'they', bro?"

The blond decided to stave off the public humiliation for a few moments more. "If I can use the cliché, what took you so long? You know I showed you how to use Backpack's tracker after the time Ebon tied me to that furnace… or it might have been after that thing with Madelyn and the Bengal tiger. Wait, it was after I was kidnapped by Professor Odium. Meh, I dunno, it's all blurring together."

"Probably because I'm pretty sure that whole thing in LA was some drug-induced trip. I mean, 'Hoop Squad'? What the fuck?"

"Staaaatic… Why did it take you so long? Where's Backpack?" Richie asked in a light, sing-song voice that he heard a few cinematic psychopaths adopt.

"Ok, so I came and took care of most the Deadites, and your robot automatically followed me because it's creepy and likes chopping up bloodless flesh-"

"Backpack's not creepy!"

"And I was keeping an eye on it, I really was, but then I heard Fr- a certain girl yelling and I turned around to help her. But she was just yelling at Keith for using the word 'hobo' and at the zombies for breaking her fence. Dude, never break anything of that certain girl's. It's an ugly picture. So, I turned around, and Backpack was sorta… not moving."

"…not moving?"

"Um, on the ground, on its back, with its legs twitching. Then that stopped, too."

"You know, Static, you probably wouldn't want to break anything of mine, either." Richie congenially reminded him while contemplating the razorblade in his pocket.

"Hey, I didn't do nothing! And then when they were all gone I scooped it up and found somewhere where I could try to fix it."

"Oh God, tell me you didn't."

"Hey, I know my way around machines and stuff too, you know! Helped make a killer robot? Hellooooo?"

"Fine. How did you fix my most complicated, valuable, and beloved invention? Hm?"

There was a long pause that Richie didn't find very comforting. "Well… first I figured that there was just a piece misplaced or something when a zombie knocked it around too hard. So I tried shaking it a few times, to get it back in place."

"…Uh huh." Richie grinded out.

"Ok, if your robot can't take a few shakes, it shouldn't have been in a battle situation in the first place! So, after I shook it a bit, I thought maybe it ran out of batteries, and so I gave it a bit of a boost."

"Just how much of a boost! Huh?"

Static splashed around again, his voice getting an echo-effect. "I dunno, I wasn't really paying attention. All I knew was that you were gone, and the last words I said to you was that you would be easier to take as a corpse! I just wanted to find you and bring you back safe, so lay off, ok?"

Richie looked down, properly chastised. "Actually, it was around the twenty-first to last, but I hear you. Sorry to scare you." Damn it, he was being a jerk again! This was no way to apologize to Virgil for how he acted at the party, which rightfully led to his humiliating dumping. He finally had convinced himself to give Virgil and himself a shot, but going ahead with things again took two. He had to prove to his friend that he wasn't a basket-case anymore. He had to be sweet, supportive, and serene.

Static paused at the apology. "…you sure they didn't hurt you?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm fine. Ok, so you gave it a boost, and it didn't work. Then what happened?"

"Actually, it did work. Worked too well, Backpack scuttled its little legs and jumped off the roof."

Sweet, supportive, serene. "…Oh? Hmmm, that's odd."

"Yeah, evidently Backpack don't think life's worth living. Don't worry, I caught him, but then he went haywire and just kept trying to destroy itself, so I, uh, bashed it against the wall."

"Huh." Sweet, supportive, serene… _silent_.

"A few times. It was all for you, you know. And after I knocked the bot out, I knew that I had no choice. I had to get the tracker working, and I couldn't risk screwing it up by myself. So…"

"So?" He heard Static mumble something but couldn't make it out. Sweet, supportive, serene, silent, sensitive. "It's ok, man. So what did you do?"

He swallowed. "So, I sent it to someone to look at it. Um, the only person who I trusted to find the signal. I headed underground and found Tech, and he said-"

Screw this. "You let Tech violate my baby? Son of a _bitch_!"

"I knew you'd say that."

"Do you have any idea what secrets Backpack holds? What could happen to us if someone cracked some of my codes? Tech just might be one of the few people smart enough to do it! And… my Backpack, messed with by his clumsy, eager mitts… _damn_ _it_!"

"Hey, he didn't do anything funky, a'ight? I watched him, like the bird that bears my name."

Richie hissed in a tensed breath. "Shut up, man, the walls have ears, you know! Have you taken a leave of your senses?"

"Psh, since I don't smell the odor of death and disease, I think we're fine, _Ed_. Anyways, it took awhile, since you lock that thing like Fort Knox, but eventually Tech found the signal, showed to me on the map, and I dropped the bot off at the station and came over here. Oh yeah, and your dad thinks you're sleeping over at my place, and my dad thinks I'm sleeping at yours. Anyways, I came here, and took a look around. Next thing I knew, I was here… maybe I was shot with something, I dunno. But it wasn't by a zombie, I'm not that slow. I know you're smirking, bro, so stop that. I can only see your foot, but that's a smirky foot."

He looked over at one of his shoes. It did look pretty smug.

"So… do you know who's been gathering Bang Babies like we're collectibles or something?"

Great, the humiliation begins. Richie sighed and began. "Well, actually, there's no plan to collect Bang Babies. This whole thing is personal."

"So we know the guy?"

"Yes, no, kinda, sorta. Remember during the week before last, when we stopped Hotstreak from threatening that kid who wanted my autograph?"

"…but if Hotstreak was taken in revenge for teasing that kid, why are we involved in this vendetta? Didn't the squirt tell his older brother or whatever that we're the good guys?"

"Actually, the squirt is the one who's controlling those zombies. He's a Bang Baby- well, he wasn't in the Big Bang, but he was contaminated with the same chemical that gave us our powers. Basically, he kidnapped Hotstreak for payback."

"And you because…?"

Richie groaned. "Ok, this is where the story gets funny. But don't laugh, ok? I have a headache like you wouldn't believe." Like that will work. "I think… he sorta has a crush on me. He's my stalker." He tensed, waiting for the hysterical laughter.

There was a long silence, which Richie accounted to Static letting the news sink in and devising the perfect taunt to respond to this revelation. He did not expect for there to be a sudden splash in the water as the superhero redoubled his efforts to escape, resulting in several painful-sounding clanks while the teen tried to tear himself free with just his strength.

"Static, stop it! You're just hurting yourself! Are you insane?"

"Insane? Is it insane to be minimally freaked out when my best friend informs me that he was kidnapped by some guy who has the hots for him-"

"Are you trying to use your powers? You're wading in water, man!"

"-who has tied him to a _bed_ before chaining me up to a freaking toilet?"

"…Static?" Richie couldn't help but to laugh. "He's thirteen. If he tried anything, I think I'd be the one arrested."

The clangs as Static attempted to free himself continued, until Richie heard him finally collapse within the tub. "You know, I've met some pretty messed up kids at the center, who were twelve years old and sticking switchblades into other kids' guts. This creepy little stinker has already taken down three Metahumans and used corpses to attack public places four times. But no, you think it's funny!"

"Dude, if you don't think the idea of the kid from _The Sixth Sense_ having his way with me is funny, I don't even want to talk to you. 'No, Haley Joel Osment, no! Not like this, not like this!'"

The ensuing laughter from the blond just exacerbated the hero's distress. "Shut up!"

Shouting continued, but neither boys were saying anything. Richie frowned and looked downward, at the place the voice was coming from.

"I thought you said the creepy little stinker was working alone?"

"I never said that, and stop calling him that." Richie frowned, and the shouts abated. Their two captors were obviously arguing over something.

"Then who the hell is he yelling at? Or is he… never mind, he's obviously cracked."

"He's arguing with the ghost. The ghost who is going to possess Hotstreak in order to live through him."

"Bro, there's no such thing as ghosts."

Richie waited for a moment.

"…the house is haunted by a ghost as well as containing a pre-pubescent pervert who raises the dead. Great."

"Ok, you know what? If Johnny does try anything, which he won't, I'd kick him. Just a quick blow right in the head. And then he'd cry, and I hope you'd be very pleased with yourself."

"Oh, we're on a first-name basis here. Poor _Johnny_ the Friendly… what's the word I'm looking for? About someone who deals with dead things?"

"Necromancer?" Richie helpfully suggested.

"Ew, Richie, I don't think he, you know, deals with them in that way. No, it starts with a 'c'… coh, cor- coroner!"

"As in a public officer who investigates unnatural deaths?"

"…yes. Poor Johnny the Friendly Coroner, the friendliest coroner you'd know. He might kidnap drunken boys at night, but only because he loves them so-"

"-Static, stop. He lost his parents." Richie paused, letting the words take affect. He knew Virgil still hurt hard from the death of his mother, and that if anything, he would empathize with the poor orphan over this.

"…still, he doesn't have to be such a jerk about it." Static muttered darkly.

"Static," Richie blurted out in shock. "Holy crap, man!"

"What?"

The door opened and the object of their conversations entered the room. He ignored all of Richie's questions and moved to the bathroom, going out of sight. Richie heard the spray of the shower and screams of outrage as Static was drenched again, before Johnny shut the tap off and walked outside again, facing Richie. "Carry on!"

He then bouncily left the room, shutting the door behind him.

"See?" Richie began as he heard his partner spit out the water that got into his mouth. "Harmless."

"Stupid little brat… think he can drench _me_ and get away with it. That… freak… don't know who he's messin' with."

"Enough with the 'Static bash', ok? Johnny's as much a victim of the ghost as we are."

"You know, I thought that Stockholm syndrome got less with each encounter, like the chicken pox. Instead it seems to be getting worse and worse every time, like being shot in the head by a cannon."

"This isn't the Stockholm syndrome. Look, this ghost was the one who convinced Johnny to bring me here in the first place. This is an orphan whose only company has been the same man who killed his parents, only as Bloody Larry. We have to save him, not condemn him."

"And you don't find it weird that he would help the thing that supposedly killed his folks?"

"I thought you were supposed to be the nice one, man. What's with the hate?"

"Excuse me if I think it's weird that the brat who sent zombies to kidnap you gets more sympathy than your best friend when he, you know…"

"Is this what this is about?" Richie paused as he looked at the ceiling. It was probably bad timing to talk about their relationship while they were in danger, but really, when weren't they? "Static, I'm sorry about what happened last night, ok? I didn't mean to push you so far as to make you quit. I guess, in some dumb way, I was testing you, to make sure that things wouldn't change between us, that we could still have our fights and… be where we always are. That and this whole thing was weirding me out, making me act like a dick. I'm so sorry. Even if you don't want to try again, I just want you to know that I know I was acting like a jerk, and if I could do it over again I would. Maybe that's why I'm giving the kid so many breaks; I dunno."

There was silence, and then there was a clink of metal as Static shrugged. "You weren't the only one to act bad at the party, so don't worry about it."

Richie shook his head. "You were just reacting to my BS."

"No, later, when you were gone to the yard. I couldn't find you, and I got pissed. And I was thinking, I bet you weren't even interested, and were just going along for the ride to be nice. And so, after a beer, I thought to maybe test you. And so when one of the drunk girls kissed me, I didn't push her away as quickly as I otherwise might have. I wanted to make sure you saw the lipstick on my face." Static sighed. "You barely even noticed, anyways."

"Sorry about that…you traitorous bastard man-slut."

"Thanks."

"No problem." Richie closed his eyes and sighed.

"…I was just bluffing, you know."

Richie opened his eyes again, jerking his foot at the door. "Bluffing about what?"

"About… me wanting it over. Maybe at the time I was frustrated, but once I left for the house I was praying that you would be too drunk to remember what I said. I don't want to give up on this, Ed." Richie couldn't help but to wince at the name. "Well, that brings down the whole speech, but you know what I mean. As long as you want me, I'm there. I love you, it's not like that'll go away."

"That's," Richie's masculine and teenaged mind struggled for the adequate words. "Awesome."

The door burst open, and Richie started as he saw the enraged child staring into the room. Not awesome. Johnny sent a gaze of concentrated hatred towards the bathroom, before turning and leaving.

Static evidently heard the door open, but it was outside his line of vision. "What was that?"

"Well, um… we just got out of the toilet, and into the steaming heap of-"

"What do you mean?"

"…maybe Johnny's not the jealous type?"

"Man!" He groaned. "How bad is it?"

"It can't be that bad. Johnny's just a kid; he hasn't gone through with anything really evil yet. The ghost was the one who has been behind everything, manipulating him into bringing me…" Richie widened his eyes as the ulterior motive he sensed on the evil being became clear. No!

"So, it's not bad?"

"V! I think I know what they were arguing about. Why would the being behind this whole thing encourage Johnny to bring me here? It would only draw your attention, and we might have taken away the only, I think, power he has, which is through the child. Johnny was planning to give him Hotstreak, since in his mind he deserves it. But what if the ghost didn't want Hotstreak? What if he wanted the form of the most powerful Bang Baby in Dakota? I was really bait all along!"

"And so that's what they were arguing about. The creepy little stinker didn't want to give me to… but I guess our declaration of mutual admiration for each other's coolness tipped the scales, huh?"

"Yup." Richie began jerking at his chains wildly, and he heard Virgil do the same.

"So, got any fantastic plans in that fabulous brain of yours, buddy?"

"Well, considering Johnny's never done this before, there's a huge chance that something will go horribly wrong. Then, you strike!"

"Keep thinking."

"Right."

But the two teens couldn't think of a better plan that to continuously jerk their respective chains, as if one of those times they would break. Too soon, the foul stench reappeared, and the door was opened by the hand of the zombie with hauntingly familiar eyes. Johnny was not in sight.

"Leave him alone!" Richie cried. "Take me instead. I have a nice, big, juicy brain. Good, right? You'd never have problems with crosswords again."

He was ignored as the creatures filed into the bathroom in a lurching march, led by Eldritch who was brandishing a key. After the turn of the key in the cuffs there was a small scuffle out of sight, ending with a sound of a head bashing against tile and a weakened cry.

"No!" He could only watch when his best friend, partner, and kinda-sorta boyfriend was dragged between two large shells of people, head drooping dangerously and legs scraping against the floor. Richie shot Eldritch the most intimidating glare he could muster, considering the circumstances. "You touch him and I'll kill you, you got that? I'll fucking kill you!"

The corner of the half-decomposed thing's flesh just pulled back into a sneer, and the crowd removed themselves from the bedroom, taking a semi-conscious Static between them.

Richie screamed for Static to wake up. He screamed for Johnny to realize what he was doing. He screamed a barrage of insults and threats to the creature he felt was ultimately responsible for the danger that was being brought to Virgil's being, his psyche, perhaps his very soul.

Richie screamed so long and so hard that he barely had enough voice left to scream when the house exploded into flames.

* * *

Hopefully you've enjoyed this chapter, and if you did or didn't feel free to pop me a note and tell what you think so far.

BTW, the brown eyes thing is a parody of my own massive disappointment upon learning that Richie, in the toon, has brown eyes, and is not a swipe at other authors who might write Richie's eyes as being differently colored.


	10. Le Feu et L'eau

Thank you so much for your patience! Long time between updates, but on the plus side, the next one might be the last. (Update, not chapter. Because eleven chapters in a story just… bugs me. So there might be two chapters at once, but whether it will be a really, really long one with a tiny one or whatever, I'm still deciding.) Plus I want a surprise to go with the end of my fic, so the next update might be a bit away. But it will be a big one!

I would like to thank all of my repeat reviewers, and thank you to my new ones: **khiahsu**, **ghost-girl-13**, **Robin Moto**, **Candice**, **a thousand winds**, **Russ chan**, **New Zealand 5**, **fictionater**, **Lily's Melody**, **Hana-Chan!**, **Bekquai**, and **smoondigiboy**.

Anyways, happy reading!

**Disclaimer: **These characters are not mine and I make no profit by them.

**Warnings:** T for strong language, mild violence, suggestive themes. They're pretty much all Hotstreak's fault.

* * *

Mind the Gap

Chapter 10: Le Feu et L'eau

When Richie inhaled to holler again he drew in smoke. That was how he knew that the house was on fire, and that Hotstreak was awake. He had no other warning before the oppression of a hideous heat began licking his arms, and parts of the wall began smoldering with supernatural speed.

Most people have a fear of dying in a fire. It is considered by many the most painful way to go. Normally it's the carbon monoxide that gets you, though. Most people die before the flames can reach them, or at least suffer hypoxic injury or neurological damage from the smoke. But with Hotstreak's powers, the old adage "smoke comes before fire" didn't hold true.

Richie struggled to turn on his side, pressing his lips against a pillowcase to breathe through it. He wasted a few precious seconds to whimper in terror, before shrieking in a cracked voice, "Stop! Wait, I'm up here! Someone's still here oh Jesus help me please!" He inhaled to scream again and coughed brutally, expelling the toxic gas that would destroy his lungs.

He breathed through the pillow again, closing his stinging eyes to protect them from the invasive smoke. "Hot-" He hacked, and tried again. "Hotstreak-" Once again his call was reduced to a pathetic string of coughs. After the steady tide of convulsions left Richie curled into a ball and spent, he could only quietly moan, "I'm still here… please, I'm up here… I'm still here."

The boy was blinded by his tears and the sound surrounding him seemed to be muffled by the smoke and the beating of his own heart. He twitched as he felt the heat intensify above his wrists, and weakly tried to pull himself downward. Suddenly the temperature soared to a painfully high level again, this time near his legs. Richie let out a terrified cry as he kicked down the smoldering blanket, reaching down with a hand to throw the flammable cloth across the room.

Wait a second…

Richie had no time to celebrate his freedom before being lifted and half-carried, half dragged out of the room, and then down the stairs. The heat no longer threatened them, the young man pulling him out had that under control, but the thickness of the smoke was painful enough alone. The other one evidently believed that running face first through carbon monoxide was the best way to escape a burning building, and thus never saw Sparky the Fire Dog's speech about laying low when the embers glow. Unfortunately, Richie could not suck in the air to inform the Bang Baby of this, and could just cling as best he could as he was rushed out the front door.

The blond was roughly thrown hands-first on the cold, muddy ground, ground which had never before looked so fertile and beautiful. Richie could barely appreciate it, as he was still coughing uncontrollably, too harshly for him to ease his lungs with some air. He widened his eyes as each attempt to inhale was aborted by the hacks that were still quaking through his body. He felt like he was going to suffocate in the open air, and the coughs started to take on a desperate tone that sounded suspiciously like sobs.

He felt a strong arm hit him hard against his shoulders, throwing Richie off-balance from his position on his hands and knees, and face first into the mud. He angrily spit out the dirt that lodged itself between his teeth, and turned to give Hotstreak a look of righteous indignation. "What-" Richie could not continue for a few moments as he concentrated on expelling more smoke as well as the dirt. "What the hell-" He coughed. "-the hel-" He coughed again. He took a deep breath in an attempt to say, 'what the hell was that for?' all at once, but that only led to a complete breakdown into a hacking convulsion.

The tall redhead shrugged, as if to say, 'what?'. "I was just trying to shut up your crying."

"By shoving my face in the mud?"

"'Ey! I was just gonna pound you in the back, cause that makes you stop choking. Not my fault you got chickenarms, ya chickenhead. A little smack on the back always makes them stop coughing."

"Because they're _scared_!" Richie coughed several times again before pulling himself back up onto his hands and knees, and then pushing himself backwards so that he was sitting, arms behind him. He still trembled slightly. "Oh God… sweet Joseph, husband of Mary, mother of Jesus, Son of God."

"Sure, if you wanna be all Catholic about it." Hotstreak's patience reached its short limit and the larger teen lifted the still coughing boy from the ground by his ruined sweatshirt. "Now, where the hell is he?"

Richie threw his mind away from the fact that he barely escaped being cooked alive by… _sigh_, Hotstreak. Who was the big bonehead talking about, Static, the ghost, or the kid? "Um, who?"

His nostrils flared. "Ed."

The laughter that ensued was luckily covered up by a string of heavy coughs. Richie reached up to remove his glasses, wiping at his teary eyes. "Ed? Uh, as in 'rhymes with bed'?"

"As in 'rhymes with dead!'" A brief smile of pride crossed the larger teen's features at his wordplay, but the flames in the smoldering house soon flared up with his anger, and the powerful arms dragged Richie so that he was facing away from the burning building. The thug began to walk forward, pushing his captive's back towards the fire. "Maybe I've been too nice. You wanna go back there, twerp?"

Richie gripped the redhead's wrists and frantically shook his head, using the cracking voice of a scared geek. The superhero in him was embarrassed about how easily it came. "No, wait, please! I'm sorry, just don't!"

Hotstreak snorted, and threw Richie down, allowing him to crawl away from the heat. "Yeah, that's what I thought, chickenshit."

"Please stop calling me poultry." Richie lost himself another coughing fit, his lungs aggravated by the harsh treatment. After he focused on Hotstreak's foot tapping impatiently, he placed a stronger effort on controlling his breathing. He did not want to deal with the villain's attempts to be a chiropractor again. "Who- Who is Ed?"

Hotstreak gave him a considering look, and glanced at the building. "He was the guy who was where you were laying your lame self down, when I was there. I think. That freaking psycho-tot knocked me out, and a whole lotta shit went down, and then I heard Gear talkin', but he was Ed. And Gear was talkin' about fan clubs, or maybe beating his fans with clubs, but since he got no fans I'm thinkin' it was about an electric fan in a club, or fanning himself with a pair of clubs…"

Richie thought of the danger Static was in, and gestured at Hotstreak to move on. "You're digressing."

"Bitch, your face is digressing. Anyways, Gear is Ed, and he was talking about clubs and fans, and then we were going to shoot us some pandas. But I was tellin' him, 'Ed, you gotta shoot the baby pandas', cause that's when Jessica Alba comes out to play. I'm pretty sure the last part was the drugs." He looked back at the flaming house, and muttered under his breath, "Yup… it was the drugs."

Richie agreed, but didn't think the tranquilizers were the only drugs taking their toll on Hotstreak. "Well, I'm sorry, but I don't know if there was anyone before me. I just saw Static flying around, and I got on my bike to follow him-"

He snorted. "Queer."

Richie scowled, sounding honestly offended. "For a research project!"

"Psh, right." The larger teen blinked as his memory was jogged, and looked downwards at the frowning boy. "Oh yeah, Foley, I heard about you flipping a triangle or some shit like that. Way to break the Nerd Barrier, Screech."

Richie looked at him, mouth agape, as Hotstreak began unbuckling his belt. "What? How could you know? That… I was only aware of my mathematical breakthrough early Wednesday morning! You went missing Wednesday afternoon, so I hear, and before that you were under strict sedation, so I assume."

"Yeah, someone was doin' stuff," Hotstreak unhelpfully responded. "Hey, you gonna tell me long I've been slipped the kiddy Nyquil?" Although it was said in a question, the expression while he said it showed that it was truly an order.

"Well, I'm pretty sure it's," Richie sighed, anticipating the hothead's reaction. "Monday."

"Monday?" Hotstreak looked around in disbelief, pulling out his belt, and doubling it with both hands in his fist. He gave it a solid crack against his open palm. "That… that's _four_ frikkin' days! You telling me I missed Dave Chappelle? Oh, you don't wanna tell me I missed _Chappelle's Show_, Frink."

Richie had meekly held up five fingers to quietly correct Hotstreak's math, but the sound of the belt made him think twice as he instead used that hand to help protect his face when he cringed back, saying, "Stop! If you calm down, I'll download you an advance copy of the third season. Just don't hit me! Jesus." His glare faded away into unease when he looked on the leather strap. "W-what are you doing?"

He began to back away as best he could from his crouched position, but Hotstreak was quicker than he was and captured a wrist with his free hand. "Aw, now don't get your hopes up, Urkel. I know how eager you are to suck dick, but Hotstreak don't play that way." He looked down at the manner the belt was unconsciously formed in his hand with an inscrutable gaze, and deliberately shifted his grip to just the buckle, allowing the strap to unravel loose. He then expertly captured both of Richie's wrists together, beginning to loop the strap around them.

Richie was so happy that finally there was Metahuman that didn't want to jump his bones that he didn't say anything about Hotstreak referring to himself in the third person. "Stop calling me nerds," he murmured out of reflex, and then caught other's eyes. "You know, you really don't have to do this."

"Are you shittin' me?" Hotstreak scoffed as he pulled the belt taught and buckled it secure. "Damn, Foley. You think you can make me think you don't got no experience with this thing? You get held hostage almost as much as Gear. Would almost think you two are one and the same if you didn't wear glasses. Plus, damn, Foley as a superhero. Fuck me, man, that's some funny shit."

Richie narrowed his eyes at the insult, desperately trying to fight the urge to reveal his true identity just for the few wonderful moments of 'I told you so' before he was flame-broiled crunchy. "Funny you should say that, _Francis_. I only get kidnapped half the times you're sent to jail."

He barely felt the punch and was only aware of it after he found himself on his side, arms against the mud. He weakly lifted his half-tied hands up to his lips, pulling back his hands to see the blood on the fingertips. He didn't even feel his own touch. He could sense Hotstreak looming over him, and dazedly listened to his rant. "I ain't a bad guy, you know. I mean, yeah, I'm one of _the _bad guys, but I'm not _a_ bad guy. I mean, we're getting along, you gonna download me some Chappelle, I'm not gonna beat you… then you have to say some stupid shit, and then I gotta smack you around. Why do you do that?"

Hotstreak crouched down and roughly pulled Richie back up by his hair so that they were at eye level. The blond had been checking to make sure his lenses were still intact, but that task was abandoned when he dropped his glasses to place both hands over his scalp, crying out in pain. The redhead indifferently picked the spectacles from the grass to bring them to his own eyes, looking through them experimentally before placing them back on the bridge of Richie's nose and releasing his grip on his locks.

"I'm serious, what up? I know you ain't stupid. You got low self-esteem or something? I mean, with a mug like that, I wouldn't blame ya. But begging me to wreck it is only going to make things worse, you know? You get me?"

Richie had gone back to covering his split lip with his hands, his tongue searching for loose teeth. After several seconds his spoke in a careful monotone. "Fo' shizzle."

"Damn, don't do that, Foley. I don't care how many black friends you got, white boys never gonna pull that off." Lesson properly taught, the taller Bang Baby pushed himself up, then reached down and demandingly pulled Richie up by the belt around his wrists, not caring that the other boy was barely strong enough to stand. "So, you gonna tell me I finally scored a triple homicide, or maybe you wanna say where Static, Gear, and psycho-tot headed off to? Cause my week so far sucks ass, and a couple of the guys who are to blame for it can't be that far. Or do you want me to take it out on you some more? Cause I can do it, I'm not persnickety that way."

He considered the words carefully. Richie needed to get to Virgil _now_, and knew a vengeful Hotstreak would provide the perfect distraction. But he also knew that if he said what was going on too eagerly, the Bang Baby could suspect that the blond wanted something, and thus would do whatever he thought would make the boy the unhappiest, because Hotstreak was a complete bastard that way. "I'm not sure where they went," he began, honestly. "Uh, Static and the boy who took you, I mean. I guess they might be fighting right now in a battle, which must really be… rad."

The older Metahuman moved forward threateningly.

Richie jerked back as far as the held belt allowed. "I think…. I think the boy said something about getting Static possessed!"

Hotstreak blinked several time. "Is that some sorta new gay lingo or something?"

"Did you know the old one?" He shook his head. "No, I mean _possessed_. By an evil ghost. Who probably doesn't want any witnesses when he's done, so maybe we should go…"

Hotstreak's free hand erupted into flames, which he rolled into a ball and casually bounced on his palm. "You know, if you were getting yourself killed over a joke, at least make it a funny one. Someone walks into a bar, maybe."

He shook his head wildly. "I'm not kidding, I swear! If we don't hurry out of here, the next time we see Static, he'll be glowing green."

"You think I'm afraid of a freaking ghost? I saw _The Ring _ten times, man. And you wanna know why I wasn't jumping at my TV like a girl or Shiv on day seven? Cause I knew there ain't no such thing as ghosts."

Richie faked a relieved look, but stumbled when Hotstreak started to move forward, dragging him along. "What are you doing? I thought you didn't believe in possessions and ghosts?"

"Yeah," he began. "But something held Static up from saving your ass. He has to be around here somewhere, and I will find him, and take him down for sending me to jail. Then, I'm gonna find whoever hijacked my transport, and turn him crispy, too."

The younger boy nodded, tugging lightly on the belt. "Yeah, good luck with that. I guess you won't need me for the roast. I mean, I'd just get in the way…"

"Meh, worse that could happen is that you die an agonizing death." He tossed him a look over his shoulder. "Besides, if I don't find Static around here, I'm gonna need something to draw him out. Something… big." He cocked a brow, which brought Richie great irritation that the pyrokinetic managed to learn how to do that before he could. "Hey, you've been in a boiler room, yet?"

"Ebon; spring break."

"Damn it, _The Bone Collector_ must have been on reruns. I'll think of something. Or I'll just hang you from a building." He continued to walk from the burning structure, towards what appeared to be a roughly marked trail into a wood.

Richie made several more feeble protests, but soon followed him as best he could, trying not to stumble over the rough terrain that Hotstreak was hastily making his way through. He felt a triumphant smile form inside, but did not allow it to influence his worried expression.

The two boys were finally silent.

* * *

After only several minutes of walking, which was fortunate because Richie doubted the other Bang Baby had the patience for much longer, they heard voices. He was only able to pick out a few words, and Johnny was speaking a language not even Richie understood. 

"_Anapaintos me ol apuodiotntes…twv eavatwv va kataotpewel_-"

"…stop, you…do this…"

There was a slight pause, then: "_Toc npwa etol wote_… Um, _npwa etol wote_…"

Johnny's litany was being drowned out by the roaring river when the two Metahumans approached. Richie could not make out Johnny's features, his form was being hidden by Static's struggling figure. The picturesque clearing, with its streams and green grass fixed perfectly against a baby blue horizon, did not fit with its undead inhabitants, who were surrounding Johnny and Static in a semi-circle, several of them keeping the superhero trapped. The dark purple fog that rolled and turned in on itself like a thunder cloud over Static's head also looked out of place in the late springtime sun.

Hotstreak took several moments to take this in, and then crouched to pick up a stone, rising up as he threw it with acute accuracy at the back of Static's head. "Hey! Asshole!"

He dropped the belt to raise both hands, gesturing with his thick fingers the universal, 'bring it on'.

"Ow!" Static reached over to rub the spot the rock struck, but was stopped by the strong grips on his arms. He craned his neck to see Hotstreak and his bound partner. He glowered and jerked fiercely against the zombies. "Let him go, Hotstreak!"

Johnny gasped when he saw them. "Oh no! Yeah, leave him alone, right now! Zombies, attack!" Static was released when all the creatures turned and took a steady step towards them. A loud sucking motion was heard as one stuck its leg into a mud puddle, causing it to topple over.

Hotstreak's tongue moved to pick at his teeth as he watched the undead approach. "Damn, Foley, what is it about you?"

Richie sighed. "I just don't know… and I know almost everything."

"Whatever. Ok, so zombies are real. Huh." The older teen absently pushed Richie's shoulder, making the boy fall clumsily against the grass, and absently flicked a fireball at Static.

"No!" Richie watched his friend roll away just before the fiery projectile struck, but his two guards were not so lucky, and both were soon overwhelmed in flames. The rolling cloud, he noticed, moved to remain hovering over the superhero. Static noticed this as well, and experimentally moved left, then right; the cloud following every time. Richie would guess that he was about to try running around wildly in a circle like in a Warner Brothers cartoon before he was interrupted by Hotstreak.

"You know," The Metahuman smirked as the flaming zombies struggled towards them, only to fall apart into charcoaled flesh and ash before his eyes. "I like this. All the fun of burning people to death without the guilt trip. Not like I ever have those, but this way I don't have to fake it." He pushed both hands towards the remaining zombies and ignited them, watching the fire spread as one burning body moved too close to the other. "Boom, baby."

Johnny blinked his eyes towards the dark cloud, then back at Hotstreak, before watching Richie begin to crawl away from the Bang Baby, and looked as if he was about to call to the blond, disastrously using his fake name.

Richie shook his head and screeched, "Richie!" All three boys looked at the fallen blond, who had paused in his escape attempt. "…is my name." He swallowed. "I'm Richie."

Johnny blinked, sniffled, and opened his mouth.

The genius screamed over him. "My name's Richie!"

Hotstreak watched Static, then glanced back at the blond, and then looked back. "Ok, I broke him. But I'm not paying for him."

"Richie…" Johnny tested the name on his tongue, and clapped excitedly. "Is it short for 'Ricardo'?"

Static gestured surreptitiously at Richie to get himself out of harm's way, and attempted to keep the focus on him. "Does he look like it's short for Ricardo, genius?"

Richie awkwardly tried to crawl away with his arms tied together, slowly making his way towards a large oak. He heard Johnny weakly whine something in response, and hid himself behind the tree, trying to pull the razor from his pocket without cutting himself.

"'Nough talk." He heard. "Burn now."

Richie grabbed onto bark as he watched a shot of flames headed straight to the ground Johnny was standing on. Static had predicted the Bang Baby's move, and was already running towards the younger boy, tackling Johnny around the waist and rolling them both away. The grass that still held the imprint of Johnny's sneaker burned, and Richie moved the razor between his legs, sawing it frantically against the belt.

Static quickly pushed himself up into a crouch again, focusing on Hotstreak. The pyrokinetic tensed, but then relaxed when he saw that Static had no powers remaining. "What? No thunderbolts? No speechifying bullshit? Did baby get splashed?"

Static cracked his knuckles. "I don't need any of that to take you down!"

Richie rolled his eyes. Well, at least Virgil's head was still intact, with balls where survival instincts should be. Sometimes Virgil didn't understand the second option in 'fight or flight'.

"Oh yeah?" Hotstreak snarled. "Won't be so easy without someone around to hit me from behind!" The Metahuman made a show of looking around. "Hey Ace, where's your Gary?" He then smirked at his joke. "You know, The Ambiguously Gay Duo? From _SNL_?"

Static couldn't risk drawing Richie into the action by sparing him a glance, but Richie knew that the superhero desperately wanted to share an eye-roll. "Right…?"

Hotstreak pointed at Static proudly. "I just threatened your sexuality!"

"Yeah, I got that."

"Static and Gear are not gay for each other!"

The two Bang Babies were distracted from their showdown to turn to Johnny, who they had forgotten about in their rivalry. Richie noticed this to be a tendency of theirs. The boy had pulled himself up and stood, shaking, with his cheeks feverishly red.

"Gear's not gay for Static; he's only gay for me!"

Static covered his eyes and groaned, and Richie somehow found a hidden pocket of strength, allowing him to saw faster. He had to free his hands. He had to use his hands to choke the boy!

Hotstreak guffawed and wiped his eyes. "Holy crap, this is either the worst jailor I've ever had, or the best."

Static smirked. "Bet you need a BlackBerry just to keep track of them all."

"It's not a long list, so don't you start saying shit!"

"Shut up!" Johnny screeched, and it was only by the mercy of Hotstreak's continuing laughter that the boy was spared from fire. "I mean it! He's not gay for Static, he hates Static because he's such a showoff and gets all the attention and he's mean to me!"

Static couldn't stifle his chuckle, and Hotstreak giggled, he fucking _giggled_. Johnny became enraged.

"And he hates you too! He's going to get my revenge and hurt you really bad, he's going to kill you and say, 'This is for Johnny!' And give me presents. And affection. And inventions that do cool stuff. But the law won't like that, because we're rebels that don't take the s-word from nobody and they don't like our love. And then we'll run away to Canada, where they'll accept us! And Gear will teach me French and we'll get married! And we'll vote _Bloc Quebecois_, so we can separate to our own little island where itwillbeMAGIC!"

"Woah…" Hotstreak glanced at his long-time adversary. "I really hope you know where your partner is, cause I think Psycho-Tot might have ate his skin."

Static did not respond, as he was too busy looking up as the purple cloud around his head sparked while Johnny screamed, "I wouldn't eat his skin! I love him, so shut up, shut up! Why are you so cruel? I'll kill you!" He pointed at the cloud, and spoke in a clear, confident voice that was so different from the chanting earlier, in fact, was different from any time Richie heard him spoke before. "_Anapaintos me ol apuodiotntes twv eavatwv va kataotpewel toc npwa etol wote unopw ecovtwmevoc me blonde va EXE_!"

The cloud above Static swirled faster and faster like a twister, then in a triumphant wail descended on the shocked boy, slipping in between his lips and choking off his scream.

"Holy sh-" Hotstreak was cut off as dirt and foliage twirled in a circle around Static, growing so heavy as to shade him from sight. The strong wind began to push Hotstreak back, and eventually he toppled over.

"Static!" No, Richie wasn't going to let that happen, not to Virgil. He wasn't going to let him get the 'I was possessed and all I got were these lousy repressed memories' t-shirt. Richie had no idea anymore about what he went through with Brainiac, but he did know that he wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy, let alone someone he loved, even if he wasn't sure yet if he loved Virgil in the way the other boy wanted him to. He loved him just as deep as that, though, or deeper, and he had to stop what was happening. A desperate, final tug sliced deeply into the belt and into the skin. Richie saw the red blood begin to seep from the soft flesh where his thumb met his fingers; a warning of the flood which was to come.

He wrapped the wound as best he could with the ruined belt. He could not deal with that right then, he had to save Virgil. And, as if obeying an order sent to the synapses in his brain, the pain never came. The message of hurt, that overbearing voice that screams at people to go to a hospital, a doctor, or their mommy and seek medical attention or a kiss to ease the torture, was cut off by Richie's powerful mind. 'Huh,' he thought as he stood up and ran towards Johnny. 'That's something new.'

Johnny was staring, dumbstruck at the havoc he'd wreaked. Richie bypassed the furious wind and sparks that was surrounding his partner, knowing there was probably little he could do for him from that end. Hotstreak was standing, and glared at the miniature hurricane.

"Look, I don't care if you've been possessed by a purple flying nimbus or whatever, you're not backing out of this ownage this time!" Hotstreak's eyes twirled with the cycling of the wind, and he started to turn green. "Hey, dick for brains, mind if I interrupt your ballerina dance?" His hand erupted into flames, and like a champion pitcher, he threw.

The flames entered the twister and encircled it, before being snuffed out. Then a large stone, about the size of a shoebox, shot out towards Hotstreak's head.

He ducked it. "Aw, so that's how you wanna play it; huh, bitch?" And it was on.

Richie knew that Static's best chance would be through the child. He felt that Johnny was not a bad person inside, and that, given time, he could be reasoned with and brought back to sanity. Richie didn't have time. He grabbed Johnny by the cuff of his shirt and lifted him so that they were nose to nose. "Bring. Him. Back!"

The boy choked and placed trembling hands over the larger ones clutching him. He look down and let out a frightened gasped. "Oh, Gear, you're hurt…"

"I'm not the one you should be worried about." He roughly swung the necromancer around so that his back was to the river, and walked with him towards it. It was no burning house, but it would do. "Get that thing OUT of him!"

"I- I can't!" Johnny trembled. "I don't even know how I put Mr. Eldritch in him in the first place! The words, they just… came out!"

"Then the exorcism should be just as easy." Richie glanced at the two other Bang Babies. He started when he saw Static floating by his own power. He was battling with the pyrokinetic, shooting stones and branches at him, which Hotstreak either dodged or incinerated. Static then opened his mouth unnaturally wide, and from the dark hole he breathed a large fog of miasma, the same that knocked Richie from Static's disc in the cemetery. It brought Hotstreak to his knees, and Richie turned back to Johnny. "That thing is dislocating Static's jaw. When he's done with Hotstreak, we're going to be next! You think he's going to let perhaps the one person who could jettison him leave alive?"

Johnny's eyes became teary. "No, we had a deal! He… he's been talking to me… now that I've undid what I did, he's going to leave me alone."

"Oh yeah, like he's so incapable of murder." Richie snarked.

The worship Johnny had for Richie made it easier for the blond to be believed. "…My parents. He killed them. Oh God, he's going to kill me, isn't he? And you." He looked a bit happier. "And Hotstreak!" His face fell again, and he started to cry. "But mostly me. I'm going to end up wandering as a ghost, or behind the Tupper- Tupperware-"

Richie raised his good hand, and backhanded him. "Snap out of it!"

Johnny blinked at him in shock for several moments, and then started to wail.

Richie slapped his cheek. "Stop crying!"

The brunet whimpered, but when Richie raised a hand to smack him again, he stopped. "If I try to do anything, he'll kill me for sure!"

"Johnny…" Richie growled as he placed both hands at the boy's shoulders. "Either you can deal with an insubstantial element that depends completely on you for any influence it might have on the physical world, a creature that has been feeding off your guilt like a parasite ever since it killed your family, a thing that I feel you have the power to banish forever… Or, I could kick your ass. Hard. And I assure you, the damage will not be insubstantial." He pulled his lips back to a grimace masquerading as a smile. "_Comprenez_?"

Johnny looked at Static/Eldritch, who has just ducked from a fireball and was racing towards Hotstreak with a howl. "And what would happen after?" He looked at Richie hopefully.

Richie narrowed his eyes. "_Je n'irai pas au Québec avec vous_, Johnny." He watched the younger boy trying to work through his phrase. He helped him along. "I didn't just declare my love." Johnny's shoulders slumped and he rubbed his eyes. "But I won't let anything bad happen to you, ok? I promise, you won't be alone like that again. That's why you brought me here. You wanted a hero."

"…actually, I wanted us to-"

"You wanted a hero, Johnny! Please, that's how I'm going to get to sleep tonight. Now," he moved Johnny so that he was facing Static's back, Richie still holding onto his shoulders. He leaned in to mutter in his ears, "Send him to hell."

There was a shaky sigh as Johnny stared for several moments at Static, before he quietly whispered, "Go away." Richie barely made out the words, but Static's back tensed up, and he slowly turned his head to look at Johnny. The blond quickly averted his gaze from his friend's eyes, knowing it would be a sight he would take to his grave, and not wanting to have it. Without the thought, he covered Johnny's eyes as well. "Go away," The boy said a bit louder. "I don't want you here anymore… get out!" Tears rolled down his cheeks as he screamed, "Out out out out out!"

Static's face clenched into a contortion of agony. Richie was ready for a lightshow, with white beams shooting from Static's eyes and the whirlwind affect that came with Static's possession. Instead the teenager just let out a low keen as his face slowly went slack, eyes rolling until only the whites showed. He hovered closer to the ground, before finally dropping with a thump. A part of Richie that had been tense since he first woke up in Johnny's bedroom relaxed and, simple as that, Eldritch was gone. Whatever battle the young necromancer had with the murderer of his parents, it was too mystical for it to be witnessed in the physical world and timeframe.

"Well, that was a bit anti-climatic…" Richie muttered even as he began to rush towards his partner's fallen form.

"Well, then let me spice things up." Hotstreak had stood up, and walked towards them, his eyes solely on Johnny. Richie noticed this and backed up so that he was back with the boy, and stepped so that he was between the two Metahumans. The redhead tried to look past him to Johnny, who was beginning to cower. "Now that I've put Benny Franklin's wet dream down for the count, there's a little thing I got to talk to the squirt about. Like being kept like a fucking coma patient for four days!" His body erupted into flames at the end of the sentence, face a portrait of rage.

Johnny spread out five fingers and shyly began to lift his hand up. Without looking Richie caught it, hiding it behind him and maintaining his protective posture; Johnny hidden at his back with both of Richie's arms placed behind himself to keep the boy still. "Come on, man, he's just a stupid kid…" He swallowed and moved them both towards the riverbank.

"You want troubles, Foley? Cause I can give you troubles." Johnny screamed as a small flame was chucked at Richie's feet, and even the blond let out a small cry as the tip of his sneakers smoldered, but did not try to run. An escape at the moment would be impossible, and would only increase the Bang Baby's anger.

"He's very sorry, Hotstreak." Richie looked at Johnny. "You're sorry, right?"

He whimpered, "m'sorry…"

"See? A great deal of remorse all around-"

"What are you, his lawyer?" Another fireball was thrown their way, and this time Richie had to move them both back to dodge it. "Because I fucking hate lawyers." He glared and lifted his hands, and a flame the size of a cannonball grew on his palm. "Step aside, Ellen."

Richie pushed Johnny back, they were now several steps from the river. If necessary they could try to escape by jumping into it, but that would also be dangerous. Although the water was not that deep, its speed was substantial, and the jagged edge of its rocks didn't look fun. The blond sighed, knowing that there was no other choice. "I'm not moving."

"Fine. Two wastes with one shot." He drew back his hand to shoot the final blow, but was knocked forward by a sudden weight as his back. Richie was already prepared to dodge, and dashed to the left, pulling Johnny with him. But he did not evade a blazing flame, as he was expecting, but rather the bodies of Static and his rival, who were pushed by Static's acceleration into the river.

As Richie simultaneously watched his barely-conscious partner disappear into the waves, and jumped into the freezing water after him, he remembered that today was a Monday, and somewhere deep, deep inside, laughed.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed it! I am very eager to hear from all of you, if you choose to drop me a line. 


	11. Confessions to a Birch Tree

Over two years? That is not a bit. NOT A BIT! Damn, I suck. I suck like woah. My excuse is that I had another creative outlet distracting me, but that is no good excuse. On the plus side, I was accepted into a highly competitive academic program which will garner absolutely no career boost when I finish school, but gives me plenty of hard work and a nice glow of pretentiousness. So my useless degree will be granted in exchange for your justified feelings of frustration and exasperation. Go us? No. No go. Me suck.

Basically I hit a bad case of Writer's Block and as time past I felt guiltier and guiltier, which made me even less inclined to write, and especially to read reviews. But when I finally gathered up the courage to read them, I didn't see any angry demands for completion, but only praise and support. It's what gave me the enthusiasm to complete this mother. Because I _like_ my only fic, and it deserves to be completed, damn it!

* * *

Mind the Gap

Chapter 11: Confessions to a Birch Tree

The water was warmer than it might have been; being that it had been a particularly summery spring that year. And the water was shallower than it might have been; it rose only to Richie's waist. Still, the rocks were sharp and the river was fast, and it was not going to be a pleasant ride.

Richie attempted to gain control of his movements and swim through the current, but that was almost impossible. He could barely manage to keep his head out of the water, and that was because he had a lot of practice. A necessary thing if you have a partner with a weakness to water, since chances are they'd be dosed by a lot of it in the course of their careers. Even if the enemies didn't know about Static's Achilles Heel, it was bound to happen. Because that's how life is made fair: it sucks for everyone.

But not always equally. Hotstreak was a bit more conscious, and seemed as intent on catching up with Static as Richie was, only without the purpose of kissing him better. Richie hoped, since sometimes the two seemed a little… The redhead reached for the semi-conscious hero, and then splashed ineffectually at him as the waves granted a fortunate distance.

Then Hotstreak and Static fell out of sight, and so did everything else.

'My glasses!' was a cry made familiar to the bespectacled by childhood, one that struck fear into the heart of them. If not because they said it, it was because they heard it, often, thanks to Mr. TV. That little whine of distress, with the nasal undertone that marked Hollywood nerds (and Richie in real life, thank you, life imitating art), was only less pathetic than the shrill flails that went with 'I dropped my contact lens!' Of course, half the time that was just a ploy to create a distraction, which made it much less pitiful.

So Richie was very happy that he was too busy preventing water from spilling into his already abused lungs to let out that particularly useless cry. Instead he released the much more efficient and satisfying, "Crap!"

He struggled to make out his friend's body and, spotting a blue-ish black object, tried to swim, or even better, wade towards it. The current was so strong that it really ended more like bouncing off rocks and branches strategically. He reached out an arm as the object came close to hand's grasp, but was cut tragically short when he came across a thick branch that snatched the back of his sweatshirt and refused to unsnag.

"Let-" Richie dipped under water, and he tried to brace his feet against the rocky bottom but he couldn't manage to get upright, thanks to the hand on his collar. He was left with no choice but to move backwards towards his captor, if only for the balance needed to fight him off. "Let me go!"

"Shut up!" The blond was jerked backwards hard. "Come on!" Richie could only see blurs, and he was facing away from Hotstreak besides. The redhead seemed to sense the other boy's confusion, so he then shouted out, "I've grabbed hold of something on the shore! On my left! Just- fuck, _grab_ hold of it before I test to see if a burning man can drown!"

"Go to hell!" Hotstreak could only hold him by one hand, if what he was saying was true, so he would need Richie's cooperation to get him ashore. And even if Static wasn't in mortal peril, Heaven would crumble before Richie made anything easier for Hotstreak if he could help it. "Static's drowning!"

"See? This is why I don't do the heroic crap!" Richie was pulled back again, and the blond struggled to twist around to face Hotstreak, which was as much an attempt to make the Bang Baby lose his grip on his soaked sweatshirt as it was to allow Richie to push Hotstreak away with his hands. "This and my anger issues."

"Heroic? You just want to use me as a hostage!" He awkwardly shoved against the much stronger teenager, which proved to be a miscalculation as his hood was released but his upper arm was grabbed instead. He was pulled so hard it felt like his arm was about to be jerked from its socket.

"No shit, Shirley? And here I thought I was showin' off my heart of gold." And without further warning, Richie was tugged under the waves.

The blond didn't even have a chance to get another breath. He spent several moments fighting against the hold before recognizing the precious air the frantic movements were wasting and instead forced himself to remain limp. Richie was helpless either way.

Seconds before the blond had to come to the decision to either fall unconscious or breathe water (the latter would have won out), Richie was allowed a brief reprieve as Hotstreak pulled him back up, giving the blond the chance to eagerly gulp in the precious air.

"Get out." Before Richie could respond, he was shoved back underwater.

He had taken a breath this time, but he was getting tired, and dizzy. He lasted about 91 seconds before even his powerful mind lost to his demanding body, and his jaws opened. Hotstreak's own patience lasted for 93.

The fierce coughing fit seemed to prevent another dunking for the moment, or at least the Bang Baby recognized that soon Richie wouldn't be capable of swimming out on his own, even if he wanted to. Hotstreak just hissed again, "Get. Out."

Richie could feel himself wanting to, but at the moment he barely had the strength to whimper out a weak, "Static." Whether it was being used as a protest or a plea was something Richie's mind would figure out after it got back on track enough to clear all the dots out of his vision.

Hotstreak took it as the former. "You really thing the grand fucking hero of Dakota needs you to rescue him from shallow water? You know what? He ain't going to drown after pushing me into a pissing waist-deep river! You wanna know why?" He gave Richie a shake that snapped the smaller boy's head back with a painful jerk. "My life ain't that good!"

Richie released another watery cough, exhaustion causing his limbs to bob purposelessly in the waves. "Mine's not so great, either." Static's fate rested on whose life sucked more. The blond felt like he was having a nice run, so far.

"That's 'cause you're not getting out of the water," Hotstreak carefully explained, before tensing his arms. Richie's breath hitched as he felt himself begin to get pulled down again.

"N-!" The noise was smothered again. Richie then came to the realization that he might very well die here. If he could have seen the redhead's eyes, he might have come to the conclusion earlier. It wasn't only about getting Richie out of the water anymore. The Bang Baby never had the coldblooded cunning of some of the other villains Static and Gear faced, but he always was dangerous for his pitiless temper. Hotstreak was furious and this time, he wasn't going to let Richie back up. His heart clutched desperately as he was once again pushed under the suffocating waves, and it was this desperation that finally pushed Richie past his exhaustion and his better judgment to open his jaws wide. As the earthy water began to fill his mouth he jerked to the hand gripping his arm, and then bit down viciously.

The dirty water in his mouth (and oh god his throat and stomach how much lower?) gained a metallic taste. Richie convulsed but he resisted the urge to release the flesh between his teeth, to open his mouth and breathe, and instead the spasms caused him to bite down impossibly harder.

Then the pressure on his shoulder was released, and the tissue slipped from between his teeth. Richie figured Hotstreak was screaming some rather terrible obscenities right now, but underneath the waves he couldn't hear it. Actually, he couldn't hear much of anything as the current took him feet first downstream.

As his lungs continued to convulse, Richie came to the realization that even though he was out of Hotstreak's clutches, he was still in great danger. He might even have been in greater peril than before. He watched, like observing a movie, his limbs flail in panic as his legs fruitlessly attempted to stand, to push his mouth above the surface, and as he saw his arms break this surface time and time again to clutch at nothing and submerge once more. He came to the realization that he was dying.

His attack on Hotstreak forced Richie to release any breath of oxygen he might have saved, and allowed water access into his body, which it took eagerly, with insatiable greed. He logically knew that the panicked motion of his body was wasting whatever precious oxygen was left in his bloodstream, but try as he might, he couldn't get his traitorous body to listen to him. Stand up! He thought. Just grab some rocks, put your feet on the ground, and stand! Nope, it still just continued to flail, while Richie's mouth gaped open and closed like a dumb guppy's.

Illogical metaphor; a guppy would be very helpful in this situation. A sign that his brain was about to go. Another sign was the orchestra in a damp subway cart whose music in its hollow drowned out all other possible activities. It had a hectic rhythm and could barely be called a melody. Na na na na NANANANA na na na na NANANANA- Oh. Sonic the Hedgehog's drowning music. Very nice, you acidic ass.

When drowning, most people were unconscious when they suffered the fatal cardiac arrest. But Richie suspected his highly developed brain would not grant him this luxury. It was a lot like how he would have died in the earlier fire, being burned alive rather than being asphyxiated. Maybe that was why he was dying now this way. He cheated Death, so Death was cheating him right back.

The thought of going through this a third time (perhaps in space) almost made Richie regret being pulled to the surface. The music of his drowning was replaced by his own sputtered coughing. He had been coughing underwater too, but he couldn't hear it there. He still couldn't quite get the air now surrounding him in abundance into his lungs and bloodstream, so he had to concentrate on that and on controlling his still jerking limbs, so he was little help to his rescuer who pulled them both onto a pebble-strewn floor.

Soon all but his knees were out of the lapping water; and coughs continued to drown out even the furious waves. Richie realized that this was partly because he wasn't the only one coughing anymore, and he curled up on his side in exhaustion and pain. His wrists twisted uncomfortably as his fingers dug into the pebbles and then painfully clenched closed, while sweet, if too miniscule slips of oxygen caressed his wounded throat on their way down. Then he was turned over, and a dark figure covered his vision. Richie then understood that the figure had a face, a face which was rapidly moving closer to his lips.

No! Nothing was to restrict the Mouth from its Mouth Duties! Unfortunately, Richie still had no way to verbally express this, so he raised a hand from the pebbles to harshly slap the invading figure away. His blow was shaky but so was the other person's stance, so he fell beside Richie with an offended 'oof'. The blond did not indulge in any guilt over what he had done (he did so in defense of his very busy mouth!) and rolled back into his previous, pitiful position. His violent act soon was revealed to be a blessing in disguise, as then Richie moved onto his hands and knees to pain his aching throat further and vomit.

His vision blurred even more as tears filled his eyes. It was a physical response from his body's over-exhaustion, but the hand rubbing down the goosebumps on his back was a comfort all the same. Soon the retching was over and Richie could concentrate on breathing again, while the other boy removed his hand as he encountered a renewed coughing fit to deal with himself. Needing to move away from the intense smell of the vomit, Richie shakily and thoughtlessly crawled over Static's heaving form. The other boy groaned when Richie's knees bumped into certain sensitive areas, and while somewhere Richie knew that traveling over Static's equally suffering body was a dick move, he still was not completely together enough to do more than try to pick up the pace. When he collapsed again he was mostly off of Static's form, though his wet runners were still somewhat elevated on what he assumed was his stomach.

After a minute or so the hand again appeared to give his ankles a brief rub, which succeeded in guilting Richie into moving the entire way off, and then crawling over so that he was resting on his side, facing Static, breathing heavily.

From what he could make out, which wasn't much, Static looked ok. He probably was better off than Richie was at the moment, seeing as he was the one to drag him out of the water. Hotstreak had been right about Static not needing a savior. Mark Hamill perked in his head "I'm here to rescue you!" and the blond cringed. He was also cringing at the thought of Virgil in Leia-buns. Both of them were still coughing, but Richie found that he could calm down by staring at the rise and fall of Static's chest. Static meanwhile was watching Richie in turn, though he also seemed to have difficulty speaking.

"See…" He swallowed as Richie blinked in sleepy confusion. "See pee- C…PR." He coughed again.

Oh. He nodded in response, but his experience on the lawn, with Hotstreak, had taught him about trying to speak at a time like this. Instead he mouthed 'I know,' and continued to breathe. The reason didn't matter; he couldn't have allowed restriction on the Mouth!

"I wasn't trying t-" Then Static's coughing started up again, and Richie let out a "Shhh!" harsh with his own anxiety. He got what Static was saying, and no, he didn't believe Virgil was such a horndog that he would make out with a recovering drowning victim. Of course, Virgil could be somewhat of a _romantic_ and Richie was pretty sure that dramatically they were expected to fling themselves together into a passionate reaffirmation of being, so maybe there had been a little concern about that. The blond moved a limp hand forward and, after some blind fumbling, grasped Static's gloved one, and gave it a quick squeeze.

They lay there for a while before trying to move again. Both of them vaguely recalled the whole reaffirmation of being thing after their lungs both ceased their attempts to leap out of their bodies from their mouths, and, thinking the other was expecting it, moved forward grumpily in order to kiss. They got about halfway there before mutually collapsing in exhaustion and disinterest, and concentrated on breathing instead. It was for the best, since Richie still tasted like spit-up.

Richie didn't remember his eyes closing, but they were when the jerked open to Static's voice. "You're crying."

"I'm leaking," Richie said in his own defense, and let go of Static's hand to wipe at his tears. It was an accurate assessment, and it was occurring in more than one area. Richie moved his hand lower to wipe his running nose with his sleeve. It was a juvenile gesture, one he had saw Johnny do earlier in fact, and so he wasn't surprise to see Static smile at it. Static's smile was one of the few things he could see.

"You look like crap."

"You look like a blurry ampersand; I win." He really, really just wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep for a month. He attempted to sit up instead, with Static mimicking his movement. When stable enough to endure bodily contact without punching anyone in the face in panic, Richie edged his way over to Static's side and then rested his arms over his shoulders with a sigh. He slumped over with his cheek resting against Static's jaw, and felt his friend tense. Richie worried that he had made a mistake. However, arms soon surrounded him as well, and the boys spent several minutes exhausted together in a comfortable slump.

Eventually Static broke the comfortable silence. "Rich- Why does my jaw ache?"

"Ugh. I know you're giving me an opening for a blowjob joke, but I'm just… the idea of anything restricting someone's breathing is just not funny right now."

"But the picture of me of being possessed and turned into a two-dollar male prostitute is just hilarious?"

"Yeah, I would have worked Tom Cruise in it." Richie moved a hand to run along Static's hair, moving towards his brow and stopping when he felt the mask. Good.

"And get sued. So, I guess what happened with the zombie woman…"

Richie nodded, causing his chin to bump against his friend's neck. "That miasma. I don't know how _it_ caused it. But it's gone now." He moved his fingers lower to gently press around Static's jaw. He probably looked very clinical and professional, and not at all like his thumbs were tingling from where they brushed Static's lips. "I- I don't feel anything broken."

"No, just-" Static make a popping sound with his jaw, and then rubbed it with his free hand after Richie moved his away in reaction to the surprising sound. An unexpected wave of giddiness arose, and he barked out a quick spurt of laughter before clapping is mouth shut again and shook silently. Static's grin was there again; he moved a hand through Richie's wet hair as if to dry it. Damp latex wasn't a great material for that, but Richie appreciated the effort. Minutes ago he thought he would never be dry again. "Ok, my boy's regressing. It's babies who find funny noises the height of comedy."

Static's boy was going crazy. Richie sniffled but continued to shake behind his hand. This time it was Static who pulled him closer and Richie could accept the embrace easily. This last week… the whole damn week. But now he was here, and Virgil was here, and they were wet and Richie was practically blind and he was pretty sure Virgil had vomit on his hair, but they were actually there and suddenly it seemed easier again. His friend probably thought Richie was trying not to cry, but the boy really just wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh with a scream.

But he couldn't. He took a few deeper breaths and then pulled back to stare in Static's face. He didn't make out much but it held a certain effect. "We can't stay here. That creature's gone, Johnny's ok, but Hotstreak's still out there." He pulled back further to glance uselessly towards the river, though he kept his hands resting on Static's biceps. "I think… I think he's still on the other side. But he could make it across." He shook his head to try to clear it, and set about calculating the distance he traveled in the river before he encountered Static. It couldn't have been too long, he was still alive. Unfortunately his internal-clock probably went a little screwy in anticipation of Richie's imminent demise How precisely fast were the waves? Richie suspected it was somewhere around 7 miles an hour, and maybe 3 meters per second. The river wasn't wide, so if Hotstreak found a land-bridge further down… "We have to go. I don't think he can use his powers, but neither can you, and I'd rather not depend on whose turns back on faster-"

Richie winced as Static gently felt the cut on his lip with his thumb. Why did people _do_ that, anyways? Yes, yes, the bruise is there. You do not need to tactilely prove it. It's like Dostoyevsky's toothache, only worse since you're not nudging your own. The blond glowered at Static as the hero quietly said, "A fistfight sounds about good right now."

"I get worse as Gear all the time," Richie pointed out, not wanting to encourage this.

"You're not Gear, though." Static pointed out. Richie did not immediately response, and instead moved both hands to his friend's broad shoulders. He used them for a boost and pushed himself up. If the world spins but you do not have the eyes to see it, does the tree make a sound? He held out has arms to balance himself as Static said, "You are just Richie Foley right now. He beat up Richie Foley."

"Ouch. Well, you should see the other guy-" He stopped his response when he realized that his partner wasn't rising up to meet him. His heart, having recently achieved a more methodical rhythm, speeded up again. "Static? Are you hurt?"

The only answer was an uncomfortable shuffle which did little to alleviate his concerns.

"V, I know something's wrong!"

"Hey, don't stress." There was further sound of movement and Richie guessed Static was trying to move to his knees. "It's just… I might have hurt my foot."

Richie put his hand back on Static's shoulder. "Is it broken?"

"No, I should be able to walk with it, until my powers come back online. It's just…"

The reason behind Static's hesitancy dawned on him. "Oh my God. You twisted your ankle, didn't you?"

"Don't start." His friend sharply warned.

"Who's starting anything? You've joined a proud tradition of many Doctor Who companions and Disney heroines." Richie kept his voice light as he reached down to help Static up. All joking aside, this was bad. He was halfway to blind, Virgil was physically limited, and they had to _move_.

"Mulan wouldn't put up with this bull-SHIT!" Static had stood up completely only to fall forward, and Richie caught his partner as best he could.

"Just lean on me," he offered. "Try not to use that foot. Are you _sure_ it's not broken?"

"Didn't you say something last week about how I didn't have a concussion, since I wasn't rolling around in my own vomit? That argument works here, too."

"Ok, you're right. And wow, when you repeat my words back to me, I sound really condescending." Richie felt Static shoulder, resting against his, shrug, and heard his partner make a strained chuckle.

"Just… this _sucks_. I'm stuck with hopping through a forest, and you can't even see right now."

"Hey, I can see! Blurs! And… and spikes which might be your hair." He waved his hands in the air to indicate his vast knowledge of his spatial surroundings. He then apologized for smacking Static in the jaw.

He felt Static rub his jaw and waited with chagrin to be chewed out, when he heard the hero say in a sharp tone, "Richie…"

"What?" He looked around himself, afraid his fears concerning Hotstreak were proved correct. All he saw was differently colored blurs, but he trusted Static to tell him if he had to duck.

"Your hand…" Static said, not without a certain kind of wonder.

Oh yeah. That gash he made when cutting himself free from the belt. That giant, painful, bloody wound which came with a dose of agony that he quieted with the power of his mind. He glanced over at the hand which was still hovering between Static and himself, and while he could not make it out, he could see red. "Oh."

And then the synapses locked back into the place, and the signal was carried up his wrist, through his arm, past his elbow, around the bicep, over the shoulder, in his neck, and to the final destination of his brain.

Richie's legs collapsed under himself.

* * *

Static wasn't quick enough to catch him when his knees crumpled from the shock of the sudden physical overload, and he heard his friend groan in discomfort as he joined Richie on the ground. When he sensed Static's arms moving towards him, he huddled over his wound protectively. "Wait! Aw…. _shit!_" He hissed as he rocked back and forth, which did little to comfort him as his nerves went haywire.

"Rich-" Static had jerked his arms back at his friend's reproach, but he inevitably moved forward again for a second try. The wounded teen didn't jerk away this time, more for Static's sake than his own. He found the touches around his shoulders more provoking than curative, and the genius had another method at his disposal.

"It hurts like a _motherfucker!_" Richie growled the last few eloquent syllables out. "Aw-" He bit his lower lip and let out a low breath through his nose. His next exhalation was stifled; it wouldn't be satisfying if it wasn't properly creative.

"Let me see." Static demanded. He automatically jerked away again, but when he felt Static remain still, he slowly removed his unharmed hand from the position of guard and allowed the other to look. He heard a sharp intake of breath, which didn't provide much placation. Balm breath blows out. "Uh… ok. It looks- You're going to be ok, Rich. Just breathe, you can do this."

"I'm not in damn labor!" Though Richie was tempted to scream, 'Don't touch me. You did this to me!' But he was capable of some restraint and besides, the language was too rated G. "It's an- Ow. Second freaking mouth gouged into my HAND!" Richie swore again but didn't move when Static held his wrist. "And it's biting me from the inside! Sweet, heavenly tards!"

"Can you move your fingers?"

Richie felt frustration build up as his hand continued to throb. "I've _been_ moving it! That's the whole damn problem, I- Palsied, fetid tigella!" He then jerked his hand away. "Don't _blow_ on it!"

"Hey, it works!"

"It's banal and painful and it freaking doesn't! Might as well give me a Flintstone vitamin." Richie groaned again. "Then shove it up my cochlea. Like some… inorganic organic shrapnel! Let it fester and provide me with a wealth of distractions from this freaking- " The teen continued to suggest vigorous lovemaking with some stranger's mother, and then described how precisely one would commence sodomy on a flying squirrel, and finally ended on a loving analysis on the female anatomy. "-vicious vasocongestion! All over France!" He breathed shakily in, and asked, "What's the damage?"

"You must have bashed it up against the rocks; it's definitely going to need stitches. The bleeding seems to have stopped, though… Done." Static had taken advantage of Richie's tirade to do the unhappy task of wrapping Richie's wound. The blond had to have known this on some level, but he still a possessive hand over the wrap with a look of surprise; his skin, drenched by red wet, must have been difficult to bandage.

"No, not rocks. Cut myself when I escaped the belt. I just… I turned the pain off." The implications began to come clear to the teen, and his eyes widened with the understanding.

He wished he could see his friend right now. He wanted to see some of his trepidation reflected in his eyes. "You could ignore it?" Static asked with a certain level of awe that made Richie sorta glad that he couldn't see what had become of his poor hand. Though a juvenile part of him wanted to see it too, it must have been real gnarly.

"More like compartmentalized. I remembered I was injured but I had other things to deal with. So… it was reserved for later." He winced. It was like a doggy bag, but for pain. It felt that however deep his cut was, Richie was experiencing it tenfold. It could have been a result of his technique, or the rough treatment the hand further endured. The pain could have only seemed to be increased due to the sudden shock of its reemergence. Either way, the present moment was still not adequately suitable to writhe.

Unfortunately, his mind did not appear to agree with him. Neither did Static. "Richie? Rich, stop." The blond must have looked like he was concentrating hard, but Static always was able to read him well. He had been scrunching his eyes closed, but he opened one quizzically at Static's call. "This isn't a good time to experiment with your grey matter, ok? And being hurt sucks, but if you ignore it, you'll only hurt yourself worse."

"I know what I'm doing." Actually, he didn't. He really didn't, since he couldn't seem to mute his screaming nerves like he had before. "Sorry." He groaned and closed his eyes again, but began to move upwards at the same time. He'd have to do this while walking.

Richie heard the hitch of Static's breath as he tried to join him, the hitch Richie knew he would want to hide now that Static knew that his partner had a bad injury of his own. "It's ok. I think you're getting better anyway, you're not swearing anymore." Richie had reached down with his good hand to do the best he could to help his friend up, and Static gained a grip on his shoulders which was probably meant to steady for both of them.

"I ran out of breath. But it's ok. I'm fine. Just a little burnt and drowned and bleeding, so what's a forest next to that. We have to go-" He paused for a moment and mentally felt for his internal compass. Richie twisted around and pointed majestically. "-North!"

"The river…?"

Richie turned around again. "North!" He gritted his teeth as his hand continued to throb unceasingly, and he was working on a headache to rival it. "First Johnny. Then doctors. Then home. I'll do the legwork, and you'll use not only one, but two, of your two miraculously working eyes."

And it seemed that his interpretation of North was still a little bit off from the angle that Static started walking them on, but it was close enough that Richie didn't feel completely ashamed. Really. The blond was startled when Static called out, "Tree," and stopped. But instead of maneuvering them past it, he felt Static let go, and barely made out the shape of his friend leaning against a dark trunk.

"…look," he heard Static intone. "I'm getting my powers back as soon as I'm dry. And, forest or not, there's bound to be some scrap lying around here, _somewhere_. I say we find somewhere, crouch down, wait it out, until I can fly us out of here."

"You want us to hide from _Hotstreak_?" Richie asked in shock. "Five minutes go you were talking about a _West Side Story_ snap-fest." The blond then internally cringed, because Static hadn't talking about anything to do with musical theatre, since _he_ had the luck not to be born the gayest boy in the entire world. Whose newly discovered wound might have something to do with the recent hesitancy of his partner. "Christ. My hand is pretty bad, huh?"

There was a significant instant of silence before Static responded. "I think if you keep using it, or get in a fight with it… something could go wrong with it, permanently. You're fine as of now!" He quickly added, but Richie knew Static was no doctor. He couldn't know that. "But if we came across Hotstreak… Let's just regroup, so we don't. Ok?"

Richie blinked slowly. "It's not that simple, V. You were with Hotstreak back there, and you heard how he was talking about the kid. He could really kill him. He's passed any tying to the tracks right now." Gear had been tied to the tracks by another villain once. No train had traveled on it since the seventies, so it was mostly dull and uncomfortable.

"You don't even have to come! We wait for my powers to get back online, then I fly off and collect the creep, and then we go!" Static responded to Richie's subsequent icy silence with an irritated, "So since when did the creepy little stinker become the damsel?"

"Could he be if I don't have to?"

"As long as no one's wearing a skirt. Not even with your gams. When did the creepy little stinker become the damsel?" Static repeated, frustration edging into his tone.

"Don't call them that. And don't call _him_ that." Richie lifted his good hand to give Static a very slight bump on the shoulder and then rested it there. "It's like listening to Sam Spade transform into Angelica Pickles, the cognitive dissonance is jarring." Richie sighed and continued. "When you were… out of it, he was the one to bring you back. He's the one who cast that thing out." Although Static didn't say anything at first, Richie felt a shudder run through him from under his fingers, and he knew that when they were safe and home and _dry_, they were going to have a talk. Richie had spent a few days with verbal acrobatics to avoid a similar one with Virgil about Brainiac, but the blond was confident that Virgil couldn't pull off the same feat.

"He did?" Richie's friend asked, with a certain level of skepticism in his tone.

"Well… I might have had to… hit him. A little," Richie admitted, not sounding entirely proud about abusing a young boy.

Static pulled away, and Richie felt eyes survey him seriously. "Really? That's… You're pretty hot." Ok, the blond didn't quite follow the logic of Static's hormones, but his mama didn't raise him to turn down compliments. He felt cozily smug enough at this point to touch the dangerous sticking point that had been between them for days.

"Static- V. I know you care about me now, and…" Richie closed his eyes and turned his face away; preparing himself for what was, in a way, a good bye. "Things _have_ changed between us." He walked a few steps forward, and then turned back around. "But this _can't_. I haven't stopped being who I am. You have a…" He stopped to lick his lips. Not being able to see Static's face actually made saying the magic word easier. "A _boyfriend_ who has a very dangerous extracurricular activity, which I know sucks like hell because I've been dealing with that new development too." He took several steps back so that he was where he started, and placed the flat of his good palm against the trunk where Static had been resting against. "I'm going to get hurt. There's always the risk of that, and I know when that happens to each other that feels like failure." Richie was about to say a comforting cliché but choked on the placebo. "It is a failure. Life's full. But I can't be stashed away, anymore than you can be, while people need us."

After a pregnant pause, Static eventually replied with a resigned, "It's not fair. You aren't even in costume."

"It's not the costume that makes me a hero," Richie replied solemnly.

Oh, he so WON with that line.

"Checkmate," Static acknowledged, duly impressed.

"Well," Richie shrugged with false modestly, and left it at that. "So we're clear. You have no powers, I have little eyesight, I have a manly hand-wound, you have a manly… twisted ankle. We're square. Johnny, doctors, home. Together, every agonizing step of the way."

"Together," Static agreed. There was a moment of silence, before the other boy said, "So. About together. Maybe you want to turn around and face me, at least, as we work on this togetherness thing?"

"What!?" Richie widened his eyes. No. "I'm talking to you right now!"

"Um, no. That's a tree. I'm over here." Richie caught a motion at the corner of his eyes, which came with a rustle of leaves. "There's nothing in your way, so… just three big steps."

"You couldn't tell me this?" Richie demanded, voice raising to a rare high pitch. "I made this speech! This whole emotional speech. And I had an awesome line about what it means to be a hero! And you let me say this to a tree!?"

Static barely sounded contrite as he responded by way of exclamation, "It was funny."

Richie looked back at the liar of a tree, and then started to move toward Static. His hurt hand was close to his chest, but his other arm reached out to be and was swiftly touched by his friend. "Take me home," the blond said, a whine beginning to seep into his tone. "First Johnny, then doctors, then… home."

"I think it was a birch tree, too."

"Oh, shut up."

* * *

Gah, ok! I hope to use the next chapter to finish this up! If I don't update in a month, send out the dogs.


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